The Secret History of the American Empire

Transcription

THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE
AMERICAN EMPIRE
ECONOMIC HIT MEN, JACKALS, AND THE TRUTH
ABOUT GLOBAL CORRUPTION
BY JOHN PERKINS
Contents
Acknowledgments
A Note from the Author
Prologue
Part 1: Asia
i Mystery Woman of Jakarta
2 Pirating Lepers
3 Geishas
4 The Bugiman
5 A Corrupt and Brutal Country
6 Sweatshops
7 United States-Supported Slaughter
8 Tsunami Profiteering
9 Fruits of Corruption
10 Attacked and Beaten in Indonesia
11 Don't Become a Buddhist
12 Biological Imperatives
13 Dictatorships of Finance
14 The Quiet Giant
Part 2: Latin America
15 Hired Guns in Guatemala
16 Obsessed with Anger
17 Recruited as President of Bolivia Power
18 Maximizing Profits in La Paz
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Changing the Dream
Venezuela's Chavez
Ecuador: Betrayed by a President
Bolivia: Bechtel and the Water Wars
Brazil: Skeletons in the Closet
The Beautiful Carioca
Taking on the Empire
Kindred Spirits
A History of Assassinations
Lessons from Latin America
Part 3: The Middle East
29 A Bankrupt United States of America
30 King Dollar
31 Manipulating Governments
32 Lebanon: "Stark Raving Mad"
33 USAID Speaks
34 Egypt: Controlling Africa
35 Infidel Dog
36 Iran: Highways and Fortresses
37 Israel: America's Foot Soldier
38 The Iraq-Iran War: Another EHM Victory
39 Qatar and Dubai: Las Vegas in the Land of Mullahs
40 Into the Abyss
Part 4: Africa
41 Modern Conquistadors
42 Sitting in America's Lap
43 A Jackal Is Born
44 The "Non-Peoples" of Diego Garcia
45 Assassinating a President
46 The Highjacking of an Air India 707
47 An Environmentalist Is Executed
48 The Least Understood Continent
49 NGOs: A Stake in Keeping Africa Poor
50 Laptops, Cell Phones, and Cars
51 Ex-Peace Corps Volunteers Offer Hope
52 Resolved: To Turn Things Around
Part 5: Changing the World
53 Four Essential Questions
54 Change Is Possible
55 Modern Minutemen
56 Changing the Myth
57 The New Capitalism
58 A List of Grievances
59 Facing Our Fears
60 Changing Wall Street Through Financial Leverage
61 Buying Off Third-world Debt
62 Five Commonalities
63 Times of Opportunity
64 The Most Important Question of Our Time
65 Today Is the Day
Appendix A: Organizations Described in This Book
Appendix B: Entry Points for Living Democracy
Appendix C: Recommended Reading
Notes
About the Author
Acknowledgments
This book would have been impossible without the
courageous men and women who stepped forward from the ranks
of economic hit men and jackals to share their stories; in doing so
they took personal risks and were forced to confront the darkest
aspects of their lives. I owe them my deepest gratitude.
It could not have been written without the people who
envisioned and manage the NGOs that are changing
corporatocracy policies; they, their staffs, and volunteers light a
path for the rest of us to follow. Some play a prominent role in the
pages of this book, but many remain anonymous—as do those
who donate their money to these important organizations. I thank
all of them.
And also the people around this planet who stand up to the
corporatocracy, the few whose names make the news and the
many who walk the picket lines, hang banners, speak out, send emails, run for office, vote for positive change, and shop
consciously. They are the true heroes of the history that is being
written today.
Without Paul Fedorko's encouragement, neither Confessions
of an Economic Hit Man nor this book would have been
published. In addition to being my tireless agent, Paul has
"watched my back," been my confidant and sounding board.
Emily Haynes, my editor, has been a tenacious advocate,
helping me transform a raw manuscript into a book aimed at
honoring the request expressed by World Bank officials and their
children to expose The Secret History of the American Empire
and propose solutions. In addition to her, I thank all the
committed people at the Penguin Group, especially Brian Tart,
Trena Keating, Beth Parker, Lisa Johnson, and Melanie Gold.
A special word of gratitude to Peg Booth, my publicist, Debbe
Kennedy of the Global Dialogue Center, David Tucker of The
Pachamama Alliance, Llyn Roberts of Dream Change, Steve Piersanti of Berrett-Koehler, Stephan Rechtschaffen of the Omega
Institute, Amy Goodman of Democracy Now!, Sabrina Bologni,
Jan Coleman, Josh Mailman, Richard Perl, Howard Zinn, John
Mack, and so many others who have dedicated themselves to
getting the word out and making this a stable, sustainable, and
peaceful world.
My deepest appreciation goes to my family—Winifred,
Jessica, and Daniel—for their support, inspiration, and love. And
to a cat, Snowball, who takes some of the loneliness out of
writing.
xiv
A Note from the Author
The people and incidents in this book are real. I have made
every effort to present them as accurately as personal records,
notes, letters, e-mails, memories, and published documents
permit. In some cases I have changed names and details for the
sake of anonymity—an important condition for many of the
people I interviewed—or combined dialogs to facilitate the flow
of the narrative, but only where this does not threaten the book's
integrity. Whenever I discuss historical events, I am guided by an
obligation to provide as accurate a record as possible, sometimes
augmenting a speaker's words with source materials referenced in
the endnotes. However, this does not include altering or verifying
details behind personal stories; when individuals describe their
roles in highjacking a commercial airliner, invading a country to
assassinate its president, bribing heads of state, profiteering from
natural disasters, seducing and extorting democratically elected
officials, and conducting other clandestine activities, I feel that I
forfeit my rights to interpret their observations. I do want to
emphasize that every major event I participated in has been
documented by other authors, historians, and journalists, or within
the archives of organizations like the World Bank; the story may
be mine, but the episodes are a matter of record.
XV
Prologue
This book takes up where Confessions of an Economic Hit
Man left off. Back when I finished writing that book in 2004, I
had no idea whether anyone would want to read about my life as
an economic hit man (EHM). I chose to describe events that 1
needed to confess. Subsequently, traveling across the United
States and to other countries, lecturing, fielding questions, and
talking with men and women who are concerned about the future,
I have come to understand that people everywhere desire to know
what is really going on in the world today. We all want to be able
to read between the lines of the news reports and hear the truths
that are glossed over by the self-serving pronouncements of the
individuals who control our businesses, governments, and media
(collectively, the corporatocracy).
As I explained in Confessions, I tried to write that book
several times. I approached other EHMs and jackals—the CIAsponsored mercenaries who step in to influence, cajole, bribe, and
sometimes assassinate—and asked them to include their stories.
Word quickly spread; I myself was bribed and threatened. I
stopped writing. After 9/11, when I made the commitment to
move forward, I decided that this time I would tell no one until
the manuscript was published. At that point it became an
insurance policy; the jackals knew that if anything unusual
happened to me, sales of the book would skyrocket. Writing
Confessions without assistance from others with similar
experiences might have been difficult, but it was my safest route.
Since its publication, people have stepped out from the shadows. I
EHMs, jackals, reporters, Peace Corps volunteers, corporate
executives, and World Bank, International Monetary Fund (IMF),
and government officials have come to me with their own
confessions. The stories they share in the following pages expose
the facts behind the events that are shaping the world our children
will inherit. They underscore the inevitable conclusion: We must
act, we must change.
I want to emphasize that you will not find gloom and doom in
these pages. I am optimistic. I know that, although serious, our
problems are man-made. We are not threatened by a giant meteor.
The fire of the sun has not been extinguished. Because we created
these problems, we can solve them. By exploring the dark
recesses of our past we can develop a light for examining—and
changing—the future.
When you finish reading The Secret History of the American
Empire, you too will, I believe, feel absolutely confident that we
will do the right thing. You will have identified a plan of action.
Together we will utilize the resources providence has provided to
establish human societies that reflect our highest ideals.
One evening a few months into my book tour for Confessions
I found myself lecturing in a Washington, D.C., bookstore. The
woman introducing me had mentioned earlier that she expected a
number of World Bank staffers to attend.
Created at Bretton Woods in my home state of New
Hampshire in 1944, the Bank was charged with reconstructing
countries devastated by the war. Its mission soon became
synonymous with proving that the capitalist system was superior
to that of the Soviet Union. To further this role, its employees
cultivated cozy relationships with capitalism's main proponents,
multinational corporations. This opened the door for me and other
EHMs to mount a multitrillion-dollar scam. We channeled funds
from the Bank and its sister organizations into schemes that
appeared to serve the poor while primarily benefiting a few
wealthy people. Under the most common of these, we would
identify a developing country that possessed resources our
corporations coveted (such as oil), arrange a huge loan for that
country, and then direct most of the money to
2PROLOGUE
our own engineering and construction companies—and a few
collaborators in the developing country. Infrastructure projects,
such as power plants, airports, and industrial parks, sprang up;
however, they seldom helped the poor, who were not connected to
electrical grids, never used airports, and lacked the skills required
for employment in industrial parks. At some point we EHMs
returned to the indebted country and demanded our pound of
flesh: cheap oil, votes on critical United Nations issues, or troops
to support ours someplace in the world, like Iraq.
In my talks, I often find it necessary to remind audiences of a
point that seems obvious to me but is misunderstood by so many:
that the World Bank is not really a world bank at all; it is, rather, a
U.S. bank. Ditto its closest sibling, the IMF. Of the twenty-four
directors on their boards, eight represent individual countries: the
United States, Japan, Germany, France, the United Kingdom,
Saudi Arabia, China, and Russia. The rest of the 184 membercountries share the other sixteen directors. The United States
controls nearly 17 percent of the vote in the IMF and 16 percent
in the World Bank; Japan is second with about 6 percent in the
IMF and 8 percent in the Bank, followed by Germany, the United
Kingdom, and France, each with around 5 percent. The United
States holds veto power over major decisions and the president of
the United States appoints the World Bank president.
When my formal talk was finished, I was escorted to a table to
sign books. The line snaked through the rows of bookcases. It
would be another long evening. What I had not expected were the
number of men and women in business attire who handed me
cards indicating that they held high positions in foreign embassies
and the World Bank. There were several ambassadors from other
countries; a couple of these asked me to sign books for their presidents, as well as for themselves.
The last people in line were four men: Two wore business
suits and ties and two, who were much younger, were dressed in
blue jeans and polo shirts. The older men handed me their World
Bank
3
business cards. One of the younger men spoke up. "Our
fathers gave us permission to tell you this," he said. "We've
watched them go off to work every morning at the Bank dressed .
.."—he pointed at them—"like this. But when protesters
congregate here in Washington to demonstrate against the Bank,
our fathers join them. We watch them go incognito, wearing old
clothes, baseball caps, and sunglasses to support those people
because they believe they—and you—are right."
Both of the older men shook my hand vigorously. "We need
more whistle-blowers like you," one of them said.
"Write another book," the other added. "Include more of the
details you presented tonight, about what happened to the
countries you worked in, all the damage done by people like us in
the name of progress. Expose this empire. Spell out the truth
behind places like Indonesia where the statistics look so good and
the reality's so bad. And also give us hope. Offer our sons
alternatives. Map out a way for them to do a better job."
I promised him I would write such a book.
Before we get into the main text of that book, I would like to
examine a word he used. Empire. It has been bandied about in the
press and classrooms and at local pubs for the last few years. But
what exactly is an empire? Does America, with its magnificent
constitution, its Bill of Rights, its advocacy of democracy, really
deserve such a label—one that brings to mind a long history of
brutal and self-serving rule?
Empire: nation-state that dominates other nation-states
and exhibits one or more of the following characteristics:
i) exploits resources from the lands it dominates, 2)
consumes large quantities of resources—amounts that are
disproportionate to the size of its population relative to
those of other nations, 3) maintains a large military that
enforces its policies when more subtle measures fail, 4)
spreads its language, literature, art, and various aspects of
its culture throughout its sphere of influence, 5) taxes not
just its own
4
citizens, but also people in other countries, and 6) imposes its
own currency on the lands under its control.
This definition of "Empire" was formulated in meetings I held
with students at a number of universities during my book tour in
2005 and 2006. Almost without exception, the students arrived at
the following conclusion: The United States exhibits all the
characteristics of a global empire. Addressing each of the above
points:
Points 1 and 2. The United States represents less than 5
percent of the world's population; it consumes more than 25
percent of the world's resources. This is accomplished to a large
degree through the exploitation of other countries, primarily in the
developing world.
Point 3. The United States maintains the largest and most sophisticated military in the world. Although this empire has been
built primarily through economics—by EHMs—world leaders understand that whenever other measures fail, the military will step
in, as it did in Iraq.
Point 4. The English language and American culture dominate
the world.
Points 5 and 6. Although the United States does not tax
countries directly, and the dollar has not replaced other currencies
in local markets, the corporatocracy does impose a subtle global
tax and the dollar is in fact the standard currency for world
commerce. This process began at the end of World War II when
the gold standard was modified; dollars could no longer be
converted by individuals, only by governments. During the 1950s
and 1960s, credit purchases were made abroad to finance
America's growing consumerism, the Korean and Vietnam Wars,
and Lyndon B. Johnson's Great Society. When foreign
businessmen tried to buy goods and services back from the United
States, they found that inflation had reduced the value of their
dollars—in effect, they paid an indirect tax. Their governments
demanded debt settlements in gold. On August 15, 1971, the
Nixon administration refused and dropped the gold standard
altogether.
5THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN
EMPIRE
Washington scrambled to convince the world to continue
accepting the dollar as standard currency. Under the Saudi
Arabian Money-laundering Affair (SAMA) I helped engineer in
the early seventies, the royal House of Saud committed to selling
oil for only U.S. dollars. Because the Saudis controlled petroleum
markets, the rest of OPEC (Organization of Petroleum Exporting
Countries) was forced to comply. As long as oil reigned as the
supreme resource, the dollar's domination as the standard world
currency was assured—and the indirect tax would continue.
A seventh characteristic emerged during my discussions with
the students: An empire is ruled by an emperor or king who has
control over the government and media, is not elected by the
people, is not subject to their will, and whose term is not limited
by law.
On first glance, this seems to set the United States apart from
other empires. However, the appearance is illusory. This empire is
ruled by a group of people who collectively act very much like a
king. They run our largest corporations and, through them, our
government. They cycle through the "revolving door" back and
forth between business and government. Because they fund political campaigns and the media, they control elected officials and
the information we receive. These men and women (the
corporatocracy) are in charge regardless of whether Republicans
or Democrats control the White House or Congress. They are not
subject to the people's will and their terms are not limited by law.
This modern empire has been built surreptitiously. Most of its
own citizens are not aware of its existence; however, those
exploited by it are, and many of them suffer from extreme
poverty. On average twenty-four thousand people die of hunger
and hunger-related diseases every day. More than half the planet's
population lives on less than two dollars a day—often not enough
to provide the basic amenities, and about the same in real terms as
they received thirty years ago. For us to live comfortable lives,
millions must pay a very high price. While we have become
aware of the environmental
6PROLOGUE
damage engendered by our consumptive lifestyles, the
majority of us are either oblivious to or in denial of the costs in
human suffering. Our children, however, will have no choice but
to take responsibility for the imbalances we have created.
In the process of building this empire, we in the United States
have managed to discard our most fundamental beliefs, those that
in the past defined the very essence of what it is to be an
American. We have denied ourselves and those we colonize the
rights so eloquently expressed by our Declaration of
Independence. We have forfeited the principles of universal
equality, justice, and prosperity.
History teaches that empires do not endure; they collapse or
are overthrown. Wars ensue and another empire fills the vacuum.
The past sends a compelling message. We must change. We
cannot afford to allow history to repeat itself.
The power base of the corporatocracy is its corporations. They
define our world. When we look at a globe we see the outlines of
slightly less than two hundred countries. Many of the boundaries
were established by colonial powers and most of these countries
have minimal impact on their neighbors. From a geopolitical
viewpoint this model is archaic; the reality of our modern world
might better be represented by huge clouds that encircle the
planet, each symbolizing a multinational corporation. These
powerful entities impact every single country. Their tentacles
reach into the deepest rainforests and to the most remote deserts.
The corporatocracy makes a show of promoting democracy
and transparency among the nations of the world, yet its
corporations are imperialistic dictatorships where a very few
make all the decisions and reap most of the profits. In our
electoral process—the very heart of our democracy—most of us
get to vote only for candidates whose campaign chests are full;
therefore, we must select from among those who are beholden to
the corporations and the men who own them. Contrary to our
ideals, this empire is built on foundations of greed, secrecy, and
excessive materialism.
On the positive side, corporations have proven highly efficient
at
EMPIRE
marshaling resources, inspiring collective creativity, and
spreading webs of communications and distribution to the most
remote corners of the planet. Through them, we have at our
disposal everything we need to ensure that those twenty-four
thousand people do not die of hunger every day. We possess the
knowledge, technologies, and systems required to make this a
stable, sustainable, equitable, and peaceful planet.
The founders of this nation recognized that revolution should
not lead to anarchy. They freed themselves from tyranny, but they
were wise enough to also adopt many of the commercial and legal
structures that had proven so successful for the British. We must
accomplish something similar. We need to accept the benefits this
empire has created and use them to unite, to heal the rifts, and to
close the gap between rich and poor. We must take courage, as
the founders of this nation did. We must break the mold that has
defined human interaction and suffering. We must transform the
empire into a model of good stewardship and good citizenry.
The key to making this happen, to creating a world that our
children will be proud to inherit, is through transforming the
power base of the corporatocracy, the corporations—the way they
define themselves, set their goals, develop methods for
governance, and establish criteria for selecting their top
executives. Corporations are totally dependent on us. We humans
provide their brains and muscles. We are their markets. We buy
their products and fund their endeavors. As this book will
illustrate, we have been extremely successful at changing
corporations whenever we have set it as our goal—for example, in
cleaning up polluted rivers, halting damage to the ozone layer,
and reversing discrimination. Now we must learn from our
successes and rise to new levels.
Taking the necessary actions—those presented in this book—
will require that we finish a task begun in the 1770s but never
completed. We are summoned to pick up the baton carried by our
founders and by the men and women who followed after them,
who opposed slavery, pulled us out of the Depression, and fought
Hitler,
IPROLOGUE
and who came to our shores fleeing oppression or simply
seeking the better life offered by our most sacred documents. The
hour has n rived for us to muster the courage needed to continue
the work all of them began. Let us not allow this empire to
collapse and be replaced by another; let us instead transform it.
After that evening in the Washington, D.C., bookstore, my
thoughts often returned to the request made by the two World
Bank execu-t ives. I had promised them I would write another
book, expose the damage done by men like me, and offer hope for
a better world. I needed to do that. I needed to share the stories of
people who are ignored by the mainstream media because their
words might anger advertisers, and to give voice to those who are
shunned for insisting on anonymity because their jobs, pensions,
and lives may depend on it. I needed to offer an alternative to the
sanitized reports and misleading statistics that pass as "objective"
or "scientific" because they include reams of information
compiled by researchers who all too often are funded by the
corporatocracy. I understood that there would be those who would
be quick to criticize my use of quotes from anonymous speakers
and from men and women who have experienced news in the
making, but who are not invited to appear on the Sunday morning
TV talk shows; yet I felt that I needed to honor those experiences
and the voices that describe them. I owed it to the people who
read Confessions, to the sons of those executives, my twentythree-year-old daughter, and the generation those two young men
and she represent around the world. For all of them— a nd for
myself—I had to take the next step.
9
PART 1: ASIA
1
Mystery Woman of Jakarta
I was ready to rape and pillage when I headed to Asia in 1971.
At twenty-six, I felt cheated by life. I wanted to take revenge.
I am certain, in retrospect, that rage earned me my job. Hours
of psychological testing by the National Security Agency (NSA)
identified me as a potential economic hit man. The nation's most
clandestine spy organization concluded that I was a man whose
passions could be channeled to help fulfill its mission of
expanding the empire. I was hired by Chas. T. Main (MAIN), an
international consulting firm that did the corporatocracy's dirty
work, as an ideal candidate for plundering the Third World.
Although the causes for my rage are detailed in Confessions of
an Economic Hit Man, they can be summarized in a few
sentences. The son of a poor prep-school teacher, I grew up
surrounded by wealthy boys. I was both terrified and mesmerized
by women and, therefore, shunned by them. I attended a college I
hated because it was what my mother and father wanted. In my
first defiant act, I dropped out, landed a job I loved as a copy boy
on a big city newspaper, and then, tail between my legs, returned
to college in order to avoid the draft. I married too young because
it was what the one girl who finally accepted me demanded. I
spent three years in the Amazon and Andes as an impoverished
Peace Corps volunteer— once again forced to evade the draft.
I consider myself a true and loyal American. This too contributed to my rage. My ancestors fought in the Revolution and most
other U.S. wars. My family was predominantly conservative
Republican. Having cut my literary teeth on Paine and Jefferson, I
thought a conservative was someone who believed in the
founding ideals of
EMPIRE
our country, in justice and equality for all; I was angered by
the betrayal of these ideals in Vietnam and by the oil companyWashington collusion that I saw destroying the Amazon and
enslaving its people.
Why did I choose to become an EHM, to compromise my
ideals? Looking back, I can say that the job promised to fulfill
many of my fantasies; it offered money, power, and beautiful
women—as well as first-class travel to exotic lands. I was told, of
course, that I would be called upon to do nothing illegal. In fact, if
I did my job well, I would be lauded, invited to lecture at Ivy
League schools, and wined and dined by royalty. In my heart I
knew that this journey was fraught with peril. I was gambling
with my soul. But I thought I would prove the exception. When I
headed for Asia, I figured I would reap the benefits for a few
years, and then expose the system and become a hero.
I have to admit, too, that I had developed a fascination for
pirates and adventure at an early age. But I had lived the opposite
type of life, always doing what was expected of me. Other than
quitting college (for a semester), I was the ideal son. Now it was
time to rape and pillage.
Indonesia would be my first victim . . .
The earth's largest archipelago, Indonesia consists of more
than seventeen thousand islands stretching from Southeast Asia to
Australia. Three hundred different ethnic groups speak more than
250 distinct languages. It is populated with more Muslims than
any other nation. By the close of the 1960s we knew that it was
awash in oil.
President John F. Kennedy had established Asia as the
bulwark of anticommunist empire builders when he supported a
1963 coup against South Vietnam's Ngo Dinh Diem. Diem was
subsequently assassinated and many people believed the CIA
gave that order; after all, the CIA had orchestrated coups against
Mossadegh of Iran, Qasim of Iraq, Arbenz of Venezuela, and
Lumumba of the Congo. Diem's downfall led directly to the
buildup of U.S. military forces in Southeast Asia and ultimately
the Vietnam War.
14MYSTERY WOMAN OF JAKARTA
Events did not transpire the way Kennedy had planned. Long
after the U.S. president's own assassination, the war turned cata-st
rophic for the United States. In 1969, President Richard M. Nixon
initiated a series of troop withdrawals; his administration adopted
a more clandestine strategy, focused on preventing a domino
effect of one country after another falling under communist rule.
Indonesia became the key.
One of the principal factors was Indonesia's President Haji
Mohammed Suharto. He had earned a reputation as a stalwart
anti-Communist and a man who did not hesitate to use extreme
brutality in executing his policies. As head of the army in 1965 he
had crushed a Communist-instigated coup; the subsequent bloodbath claimed the lives of 300,000-500,000 people, one of the
worst politically engineered mass murders of the century, reminiscent of those of Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Mao Tse-tung.
Another estimated one million people were thrown into jails and
prison camps. Then, in the aftermath of the killings and arrests,
Suharto took over as president, in 1968.
When I arrived in Indonesia in 1971, the goal of U.S. foreign
policy was clear: stop communism and support the president. We
expected Suharto to serve Washington in a manner like that of the
shah of Iran. The two men were similar: greedy, vain, and
ruthless. In addition to coveting its oil, we wanted Indonesia to set
an example for the rest of Asia, as well as for the entire Muslim
world.
My company, MAIN, was charged with developing integrated
electrical systems that would enable Suharto and his cronies to industrialize and become even richer, and would also ensure longterm American dominance. My job was to create the economic
studies necessary to obtain financing from the World Bank, Asian
Development Bank, and U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID).
Soon after my arrival in Jakarta, the MAIN team met at the
elegant restaurant on the top floor of the Hotel Intercontinental
Indonesia. Charlie Illingworth, our project manager, summarized
our
EMPIRE
mission: "We are here to accomplish nothing short of saving
this country from the clutches of communism." He then added,
"We all know how dependent our own country is on oil. Indonesia
can be a powerful ally to us in that regard. So, as you develop this
master plan, please do everything you can to make sure that the
oil industry and all the others that serve it—ports, pipelines,
construction companies—get whatever they are likely to need in
the way of electricity for the entire duration of this twenty-fiveyear plan."
Most government offices in Jakarta in those days opened
early, around seven A.M., and shut their doors at about two P.M.
Their employees broke for coffee, tea, and snacks; however,
lunch was postponed until the closing hour. I made a habit of
rushing back to the hotel, changing into my bathing suit, heading
for the pool, and ordering a tuna fish sandwich and cold Bintang
Baru, a local beer. Although I dragged along a briefcase stuffed
with official papers I had collected during my meetings, it was a
subterfuge; I was there to work on my tan and ogle the beautiful
young bikini-clad women, mostly American wives of oil workers
who spent their weekdays in remote locations or executives with
offices in Jakarta.
It did not take long for me to become enamored with a woman
who appeared to be about my age and of mixed Asian-American
heritage. In addition to her stunning physique, she seemed unusually friendly. In fact, sometimes the way she stood, stretched,
smiled at me while ordering food in English, and dove into the
pool appeared flirtatious. I found myself quickly turning away. I
knew I must be blushing. I cursed my puritanical parents.
Every day, around four o'clock, approximately an hour and a
half after my arrival, she was joined by a man who, I was certain,
was Japanese. He arrived dressed in a business suit, which was
unusual in a country where formal attire generally consisted of
slacks and a well-pressed shirt, often made from local batik cloth.
They chatted for a few moments and then departed together.
Although I searched for them in the hotel bars and restaurants, I
never saw them together or alone anywhere except at the pool.
MYSTERY WOMAN OF JAKARTA
One afternoon, as I rode the elevator to the ground floor, I
steeled myself. I would approach her, talk with her. I told myself
there was nothing to lose, I knew she was married to the Japanese
man and I just wanted to speak with someone in English. How
could she possibly object? Once I made that commitment, I felt
jubilant.
I strolled toward the pool with a buoyant sense of anticipation,
humming a favorite song. But, as soon as I arrived, I stopped in
my tracks, dismayed and confused. She was not in her usual
place. I searched frantically around, but there was no sign of her
anywhere. I dropped my briefcase next to a lounge chair and
rushed into the surrounding gardens. I had never explored them
before and now found that they were vast, bursting with orchids
of every conceivable color, a profusion of birds-of-paradise, and
bromeliads that dwarfed those I had seen in the Amazon; but all I
could think about was my missed opportunity to admire them
with her. Palms and exotic bushes formed little nooks and
hideaways. I thought I spied her lying on a towel in the grass on
the other side of a hedge. I raced around it—and managed to wake
up a woman. She clutched her loose bikini top to her breasts, sat
up, glared at me menacingly, her eyes accusing me of voyeurism,
and shouted in a language I did not understand. I apologized as
best I could and returned to the spot where I had left my briefcase.
When the waiter approached to take my order, I pointed at the
vacant chair where she usually sat. He bowed, smiled, and picked
up my briefcase to move it there for me.
"No, no, tidak," I said, still pointing. "The woman. Where is
she?" I figured that it was part of a pool waiter's job to know the
habits of regular clients. I suspected the Japanese executive was a
good tipper.
"No, no," he repeated. "Tidak."
"Do you know where she went?" I threw my hands out at my
sides and shrugged in what I thought was a universal gesture.
He mimicked my movements, smiled idiotically, and parroted
back my words, "Where she went."
17
"Yes. Where?"
"Yes," he repeated. "Where?" He shrugged again, his
expression aping Alice in Wonderland's Cheshire Cat. Then he
snapped his fingers. "Yes." He laughed.
I held my breath, relieved that my theory about pool waiters
was about to be confirmed.
"Tunafich sanich and Bintang Baru," he stated.
Deflated, I only managed to nod. He trotted off.
Four o'clock came and went. There was no sign of either her
or the man who had always joined her. I trudged off to my room,
showered, dressed, and headed out. I had to get away from this
hotel. I would immerse myself in the local scene.
2
Pirating Lepers
It was a typical Jakarta evening, hot and sticky. Heavy clouds
hung over the city, threatening rain. I had never left the hotel
before, except in my private chauffered jeep. As soon as I stepped
off the curb of the hotel's sweeping driveway, I was nearly run
down by a three-wheeled bicycle cab, known as a becak. I had
passed hundreds while being driven to various meetings and had
always found the rainbow-colored murals painted on the boxlike
sides of the high seats picturesque, quaint reminders that
Indonesia was a land of artists. Now I saw another aspect; these
drivers were impoverished men in rags desperately competing for
customers. They rushed at me ringing bells and shouting to get
my attention. In an attempt to avoid being run over I nearly
stepped into a gutter that was black as tar, littered with garbage,
and reeking of urine.
The gutter drained down a steep incline to one of the many canals built by the Dutch during the colonial era. Now stagnant, its
surface was covered with a green and putrid-looking scum; the
stench that arose from it was nearly intolerable. It seemed preposterous that the inventive people who had turned the sea into farmland had attempted to recreate Amsterdam amid this tropical heat.
The canal, like the gutter that fed it, overflowed with debris. I
could even distinguish the two by their distinctive stenches. The
gutter had an immediacy about its odor, rotting fruit and urine,
while the canal carried a darker, longer-term pungency, the
mixture of human excrement and decay.
I continued along, dodging the bicycle cabs that hugged the
sides of the road. Beyond them, in the mainstream of the
thoroughfare, was a frenzy of automobile and motorbike traffic;
the sound of
EMPIRE
honking horns, backfiring engines, and muffler-deprived cars
was overwhelming, as was the acrid stench of oil on hot pavement
and gas fumes in the humid air. The weight of all this began to
impact me physically.
I stopped for a moment, feeling assaulted and defeated. I was
tempted to give up and return to the serenity of my hotel. Then I
reminded myself that I had endured the Amazon jungle and had
lived in mud shacks with peasants in the Andes who survived on a
daily ration of a potato and a handful of legumes and, when asked
to name their children, would include the dead as well as the
living, the former often outnumbering the latter. I thought about
the other members of my team and about all the traveling
Americans who intentionally avoid seeing the countries they visit
the way the majority of the people living there see them. I was
suddenly struck by the realization that my experiences as a Peace
Corps volunteer—the bonds I had forged with some of those
people; the way they had opened their lives to me; shared their
meager provisions so self-lessly; welcomed, warmed, nurtured,
and even loved me—had profoundly impacted me. Standing alone
in the descending Jakarta night, I had to wonder whether I was
really cut out to be a pirate. How could I rape and pillage the
becak drivers, the young men and women who served me at the
hotel and in the offices I frequented, the peasants toiling in their
rice paddies, the fishermen, seamstresses, shopkeepers, and
carpenters? It was one thing to be a Robin Hood stealing from the
rich or a pirate attacking Spanish galleons laden with the king's
gold, and quite another to loot the poor. Yet that was exactly what
I was being called upon to do; I would rob from the poor and give
to the rich—and in the process receive my commission. How
could I do it? How could Charlie 111-ingworth and everyone else
with related jobs live with themselves?
In that moment I had to accept my personal responsibility, had
to acknowledge the possibility that my years in Ecuador had
given me a perspective unlike that of the others who did my type
of work or the citizens whose taxes supported us. I had been
blessed—or
20PIRATING LEPERS
cursed—with insights shared by few Americans. Everyone
found ways to rationalize. Charlie fought the Communists. Others
were simply profiteering. "A dog-eat-dog world," they said. "My
family comes first." Some wrote off other races or classes as
inherently inferior or lazy, deserving whatever misfortunes befell
them. A few, I supposed, actually believed that investing fortunes
into electrical grids would solve the world's problems. But me:
What was my justification? I was a young man who suddenly felt
very old.
I stared down at that canal. I wished I had a copy of Tom
Paine's Common Sense so I could hurl it into those rank waters.
My eyes were drawn to something I had not spotted before. A
large and battered cardboard box slumped, like a collapsed
beggar's hat, near the edge of the stagnant water. As I stared, it
shuddered, reminding me of a fatally injured animal. Figuring I
was delusional, that the heat, fumes, and noise had gotten the
better of me, I decided to resume walking; but before I turned, I
caught a glimpse of an arm protruding from around the side of the
box—or rather, what appeared to have once been an arm, now
reduced to a bloody stump.
The shaking intensified. The bloody stump moved along the
edge of the box to a corner at the top. It shot straight up. A nest of
black hair followed it, appearing like Medusa's snakes above the
box, knotted and mangled with mud. The head shook itself and a
body began to emerge, up until now hidden by the box, a body
that sent waves of revulsion through me. Bent and emaciated, the
body of what I took to be a woman crept along the ground to the
edge of the canal. It struck me that I was seeing something I had
heard about all my life but never encountered before. This
woman, if that in fact was her gender, was a leper, a human being
whose flesh was decaying right before my eyes.
At the canal's edge, the body sat down, or, more accurately,
collapsed into a pile of rags. The arm I had not seen before
reached out and dipped a tattered cloth into the fetid canal water,
shook it slowly, and wrapped it around the bloody stump, which
had several open wounds where fingers should have been.
EMPIRE
I heard a groan, and realized that the sound came from me. My
legs wobbled. I had an urge to race back to the hotel, but I forced
myself to remain at that spot. I had to bear witness to this person's
agony. I knew in my heart that any other action was futile. This
woman's struggle was probably repeated several times a day by
her alone. I wondered how many other abandoned souls were
performing such doomed rituals here in Jakarta, throughout
Indonesia, in India and Africa.
A movement caught my eye, another twitching of the
cardboard walls. The leper turned slowly to stare at the box. Her
face was a blur of red pustules; it lacked lips. I followed the
sunken eyes.
A baby's head came into view beside the box. I wanted not to
watch but was fascinated, like a man witnessing a murder he is
powerless to stop. The baby crawled toward the woman. It sat
down beside the leper and began to cry. I could not hear the
sound, either because the voice was too weak or the traffic too
loud, but I could see the open mouth and the spasms of the little
body.
The leper suddenly looked up and spied me watching her. Our
eyes met. She spit onto the ground, rose to her feet, shook her
bloody stump at me, caught the baby up in her arms and,
scurrying faster than I imagined possible, disappeared back inside
the box.
As I stared at the spot where the woman had been, something
bumped my back. Instinctively, I whirled and reached for the
wallet in my hip pocket. I was relieved to find it was still there
and relieved also by the distraction. Two attractive young women
sauntered by. They giggled and smiled at me. One wore tight
jeans, the other a revealing miniskirt. Spiked heals and halter tops.
They stopped. "No pickee pockets," the one in the mini said. "We
lohvas." She crooked her finger. "Come. Lohve us."
I shook my head.
"Oh, he like boys," she said. They turned away.
Up ahead of them, a pedestrian bridge crossed over the frantic
traffic. They strolled toward it, two tigresses on the prowl,
flaunting the sexuality of their swaying hips. The one in the mini
turned,
PIRATING LEPERS
grinned, and waved at me. Then they headed up the steps of
the bridge.
I glanced at the cardboard box. It did not move. A little breeze
came up, sending ripples across the canal. I was half tempted to
(lamber down and hand that woman all the cash in my wallet, but
then I spotted her tattered cloth lying on the ground where she apparently had dropped it in her haste to get away from me. I
thought it best to allow her the dignity of her privacy. I hurried
toward the pedestrian bridge, having no idea where it might take
me.
The sun sets quickly and brilliantly along the equator. But on
this day the heavy clouds created a deception, letting the light linger until suddenly, by the time I reached the bridge, it was nearly
dark. On the other side, a neon sign flashed RESTAURANT in
English. 1 climbed the stairs.
A tall woman leaned against the railing. In the failing light, it
was difficult to be certain, but she looked beautiful. When I came
abreast of her, she said in a shockingly husky voice, "I yur goodtime man. We fuki fuki." She pointed at her Adam's apple, made
it bob, then her ass, and gave me a smile. Now I saw the layers of
makeup. I hurried on.
Several street lights suddenly flickered to life at intervals
along the bridge. They sputtered irregularly and cast an eerie
yellow glow that gave the place a hazy, almost swampy look. I
stopped beside one of them, thinking that my job of forecasting
electricity demand must involve researching such things. The
cement pillar was cracked, flaking, and dappled with mold. I
avoided touching it.
I walked on, staring down at my feet and the pock-marked
floor of the bridge. Rusty bits of rebar protruded from the
concrete, like angry maggots in the swampy yellow light. I tried
to think about the bridge, its age, the men who had built it, and yet
I was distracted. An image of that beautiful woman at the hotel
pool had crept into my mind. In a way it was a welcome relief
from the reality surrounding me; but it also haunted me. I could
not erase her from my mind. The idea that I had fallen in love and
been abandoned
23
swept through me; I assured myself that this was absolute
foolishness.
I glanced up in time to see that I had nearly reached the steps
at the other end of the bridge. The RESTAURANT sign was
immediately in front of me, attached to the roof of a low complex
of buildings on a street set back from the main highway. Below,
in smaller letters, it read: FINE CHINESE MEALS. A black sedan,
similar to ones at the U.S. embassy, slowly approached the
restaurant. The lone vehicle seemed out of place amid the city
hustle.
3
Geishas
I descended the steps. The sedan stopped in front of the
doorway. It idled there for a moment and then inched forward, its
occupant apparently not liking what he saw or not finding the
person he sought. I tried to peer through the car's windows, but
found only the reflection of the restaurant's neon sign. Suddenly,
the driver gunned the engine and sped away.
When I reached the restaurant, its interior was obscured by
thin curtains. I pressed my face against the glass. It was dark
inside, except for small globes of flickering light that I took for
candles. I stepped to the door.
It opened into a darkened room with a lantern on each of a
dozen or so tables. A quick survey of the ones where guests were
seated suggested cultural diversity: There were Asians and
Europeans or Americans.
A Chinese lady bowed to me. "Welcome," she said. "Good
evening. Dinner for one?" Her accent suggested she had studied
with a British teacher. She led me into the room.
I froze, disbelieving what I saw.
The woman from the pool, my lady, the person I had tried so
hard to locate, sat at a table with another Asian woman, staring
hack at me. Then she smiled and beckoned. The hostess,
observing her, led me to her table. "Friends?"
"Yes." The woman from the pool did not hesitate. "Will you
join us please?"
The hostess pulled out an empty chair, bowed again, and
walked .iway.
I was reeling with confusion. "Where's your husband?" I
asked.
EMPIRE
The two women exchanged glances and broke into laughter.
"I'm not married," she said at last.
"But the man at the pool."
"A business associate." Stifling a giggle, she indicated the
chair. "Please have a seat. We just ordered. More than enough for
all of us—at least to begin. Or are you determined to dine alone?"
Her English was close to perfect, with just the hint of an accent.
I sat down. One part of me could not believe my good fortune.
Another felt apprehensive, as though I were involving myself in
something illicit. A waiter came over and set a small cup in front
of me.
The lady from the pool pointed at a little porcelain pot. "Sake?
We have been drinking lots. This is our night to let go. Very good
sake here." She filled my cup. "Cheers." Our three cups clinked.
"Oh yes," she said, wiping her lips with a white linen napkin.
"How rude. I'm Nancy and this is Mary."
"John." I shook hands with each.
"I've observed you at the pool, John. I waited for you to come
say hello. You seem very lonely and nice, but I think you're
terribly shy. Or perhaps . . ." She leaned toward me, so close I
could smell the liquor on her breath. "You're madly in love with a
wife."
It was my turn to laugh. "Getting divorced."
"In luck," Mary said. "Here's to broken marriages." She raised
her glass. She spoke with a similar accent, a bit heavier than
Nancy's.
The waiter arrived with several heaping plates of food. As we
ate, we exchanged information about our backgrounds. Nancy and
Mary shocked me when they described themselves as geishas. I
admitted that I thought those days were long gone; they assured
me that I was mistaken. "Oil," Mary said, "revived this ancient
art. Different, yes, but it's alive and well today."
Their pregnant Taiwanese mothers were abandoned by their
fathers, American army officers assigned to their country after
World War II. The women turned their newborn daughters over to
a Japanese businessman; he arranged for foster care and their
schooling, which included extensive lessons in English as well as
in U.S.
26GEISHAS
history and culture. When they reached maturity, they went to
work for him.
"You've probably seen the women on the street out there."
Nancy pointed toward the pedestrian bridge outside the curtained
window. "That could be us. We're lucky." She went on to say that
the Japanese businessman paid them well and seldom dictated
how they should act or specified what they should do. "He asks
for results. That's all. Up to us how we get them." She poured us
each more sake.
"What sort of results?"
"How naive," Mary said. "He must be new here."
I admitted that it was my first trip, my initial assignment,
adding that I was eager to learn.
"We're happy to teach you," Nancy proclaimed. "You're a gem
in our world. But we may ask for something in return. Not
tonight, but sometime."
"At your service." I tried to appear nonchalant.
They sounded more like college professors than geishas as
they explained that men in power have always been willing to
spend fortunes and sacrifice the lives of others in order to amass
resources and power. I was amazed at their frankness and
attributed it at least in part to the sake, although everything they
said made absolute sense. They talked about the importance of the
spice trade in the time of the great European explorers and of the
role gold had played for centuries.
"Today it's oil," Nancy continued. "The most precious
resource ever. Everything depends on it. Spices and gold were
luxuries without much real value. Good to taste, use as a
preservative, for jewelry and artifacts. But oil. . . oil's life itself.
Nothing in the modern world works without it. This is the biggest
resource grab in history. The stakes are huge. Should we be
surprised that men are willing to risk everything to control it?
They'll cheat and steal. Build ships and missiles, and send
thousands—hundreds of thousands—of young soldiers to die for
oil."
EMPIRE
"Is that what you learned in the history books?"
She gave me a smirk. "Of course not. That came from the
school of hard knocks."
"Hard knocks!" Mary was beside herself with laughter. "I can't
believe you said that, Nance. That's perfect. I got to remember it.
Hard knocks." She shook her head.
But I was thinking about Charlie and the speech he had given
that first night at the restaurant on top of the Hotel
Intercontinental about how we had come to Indonesia to save it
from Communists and secure oil for the United States. Then my
thoughts turned to Claudine, the woman in Boston who had
mentored me as an EHM. It occurred to me that she was part of
the same tradition as these two Asian-American women. I had to
wonder if she ever thought of herself as a geisha. My eyes went
from the laughing Mary to Nancy, and in that moment I saw
Claudine and realized how much I missed her. I wondered
whether my infatuation with the woman across the table, my
poolside obsession, had grown out of my loneliness and perhaps a
subconscious connection I had made between her and Claudine.
I forced myself back to the present. Mary was wiping the
laughter from her eyes with her napkin. I spoke to Nancy. "And
you. What's your role?"
"We're like those soldiers, expendable but necessary. We serve
the Emperor."
"Who is the Emperor?"
Nancy shot a look at Mary. "We never know. Whoever pays
the highest price to our boss."
"The man at the pool?"
"He's my contact here, not the real boss. He takes me to my
clients."
"In the Hotel Intercontinental?"
"Honeymoon suite." She giggled, but stopped herself. "Sorry.
Mary and I always say that sometime we want a real honeymoon
in that suite." She glanced away toward the curtained window.
28
I recalled the black sedan that had cruised by, wondering if its
occupant had been looking for one of them. "Only there—your
work, the Hotel Indonesia?"
"Of course not. Country clubs, cruise ships, Hong Kong,
Hollywood, Las Vegas . . . you name it. If oil men and politicians
like it, we've been there."
My eyes roamed from one to the other. They seemed so
young— ;i tid so worldly. I was twenty-six; I knew from their
stories that they were about five years my junior. "Who are your
clients?"
Nancy lifted a finger to her lips. She glanced around the
restaurant, like a doe I had seen in a New Hampshire field
terrified by a dog barking in the distance. "Never," she said and
her voice took on a solemn quality, "ask that question."
4
The Bugiman
I returned to Indonesia frequently during the next few years.
The World Bank, its affiliates, and the Suharto government
appreciated MAIN'S willingness to provide reports necessary for
securing huge loans that would benefit U.S. corporations and the
Indonesian rulers. They did not care that these loans would leave
the country deeply indebted. For the banks, that was part of the
plan. As far as Suharto was concerned: By investing his
mushrooming fortune overseas, he sheltered himself against the
future of a bankrupt Indonesia.
Over the years, my assignments took me to idyllic villages in
the mountains of Java, remote beaches along the coasts, and
exotic islands. The language, Bahasa Indonesia, was invented by
linguists after World War II to help unite the islands; its
simplicity enabled me to learn the basics quickly. I enjoyed
exploring area^ seldom visited by foreigners, talking with the
people, and trying to understand their culture. My Peace Corps
training had taught me the value of departing from the paths
traveled by most businessmen, diplomats, and tourists, of meeting
farmers, fishermen, students, shop owners, and street urchins. Yet
it also assured that I would continue to be haunted by the guilt I
felt over the terrible impact men like me had on the majority of
Indonesia's people.
When in Jakarta, I spent as much time as possible at the Hotel
Intercontinental Indonesia's swimming pool. I was disappointed
that I never again saw either Nancy or Mary. However, I
frequently observed their counterparts at work around the pool. I
became intimate with one of them, a young Thai woman, and
discovered that the use of geishas was not restricted to the
Japanese. We Americans
30THE BUGIMAN
had our own version, as did the Europeans and other Asians;
however, it seemed a consensus among these women that the
Japanese were the ideal employers, and that they had perfected
this profession in a manner unequaled by other cultures—
appropriate, I l hought, given their long history.
The Thai woman befriended me not to gain anything or
because someone had hired her to compromise me—after all, I
had already been bought. She did it either from the goodness in
her heart, because she needed someone like me in her life, or
perhaps due to the chemistry that passed between us. I was never
entirely sure of her motives, only that she was a companion, erotic
inspiration, and confidant. She also enlightened me about the
ways of high-level international business and diplomacy. "Expect
hidden cameras and tape recorders in the rooms of ladies who try
to seduce you," she said, quickly adding with a smile, "not that
you're unattractive, just that things aren't as they appear." She
taught me that women like her played a pivotal role in shaping
some of the world's most important deals.
A couple of years after my first assignment, I was sent for
three months to Sulawesi, the remote island east of Borneo.
Known affectionately as the "running drunken giraffe" because of
its shape on maps, this island was singled out to serve as a model
for rural development. Once an important part of the East India
spice trade, it became a twentieth-century backwater. Now the
Indonesian government was determined to make it a symbol of
progress. We Americans saw it as a potential cash cow for
mineral, forestry, and agricultural industries. Several mammoth
corporations coveted its gold and copper potentials and its exotic
trees; a large Texas ranch had bought thousands of acres of
forests, cleared and sold them, and planned on shipping beef in
football field-size barges to the lucra-tive Singapore and Hong
Kong markets. Sulawesi was also viewed as a cornerstone of the
government's transmigration program—a scheme similar to the
colonization of the Amazon that had impacted the people I
worked with during my Peace Corps years, aimed at
EMPIRE
moving the urban poor from cities in Java (which had the
highest population density in the world) to underpopulated areas.
Like its Latin American version, this program was supported by
the international development agencies as a method for disbursing
impoverished slum dwellers to unsettled rural regions and thereby
mitigating against the likelihood of antigovernment rebellions.
The policy continued despite the fact that experts soon discovered
that, on both continents, such programs often turned disastrous.
Local indigenous people were displaced, their lands and cultures
destroyed, while newly transplanted urban populations struggled
unsuccessfully to cultivate the fragile soil.
When I arrived in Sulawesi, I was given a government-owned
house outside the old Portuguese city of Makasar (renamed Ujung
Pandang in one of Suharto's nods at nationalism), complete with
maid, gardener, chef, jeep, and driver. My job, as usual, was to
travel to any region that appeared to have resources multinational
corporations might exploit, meet with community leaders, collect
all available information, and write a glowing report proving that
huge loans to develop electric power and other infrastructure
projects would turn this medieval economy into a modern
success.
A town known as "Batsville," located near the budding Texas
cattle ranch, had been identified as a possible location for a power
plant. Early one morning, my driver drove us out of Ujung
Pandang, up the spectacular coast, to the port city of Parepare.
From there, we wound cautiously into the mountains of the
remote interior, the road barely more than a dirt trail cut through
jungle. I felt like I had returned to the Amazon.
When the jeep pulled into the village of Pinrang, the driver announced, "This is it. Batsville."
I glanced around; the name of the village had piqued my
interest. I searched for the bats, but saw nothing unusual. The
driver cruised slowly past a plaza that resembled many others in
towns throughout Indonesia: It had a couple of benches and
several trees with huge dark clusters hanging from their branches,
like extra-large coconuts. Then suddenly, one of those clusters
opened up. My heart caught in my throat as I realized that a
gigantic bat was stretching her wings.
The driver pulled to a stop. He led me to a spot beneath one of
the bats. The amazing animal was moving above us, her wings
sluggishly uncoiling, her body as large as a monkey. The eyes
opened. The head turned and stared at us. I had heard rumors that
these bats shorted out electric lines, indicating that their wing
spans measured in excess of six feet; however, even in my wildest
imagination I had never expected anything to compare with what
I was seeing.
Later, I met with the mayor of Pinrang. I quizzed him about
local resources and likely attitudes toward building a power plant
and industries owned by foreigners in his area, but the bats
dominated my thoughts. When I asked whether they caused
problems, he replied, "No. They fly away every evening and eat
fruit far out of town. They return mornings. Never touch our
fruit." He raised his teacup. "Very much like your corporations,"
he said with a sly smile. "They fly off, feed on resources far away,
defecate on lands people from the United States will never visit,
and then return to you."
I heard this theme often. I had begun to understand that although most Americans have no idea that their lifestyles are built
on exploitation, millions of people in other countries are aware of
it. Even in the 1970s they viewed our military not as a defender of
democracy but rather as an armed guard for exploitative
corporations— and they were frightened and angry as a result.
Sulawesi was also the home of the infamous Bugi tribe. European spice traders centuries ago feared them as the fiercest, most
bloodthirsty pirates in the world. When they returned home, the
Europeans threatened disobedient children with the warning that
if they did not change their ways "the Bugimen will get you."
During the 1970s the Bugis continued to live much as they had
for hundreds of years. Their magnificent sailing ships, called
prahus, formed the backbone of interisland commerce. The
sailors who manned these black-sailed galleons wore long
sarongs, brilliantly
33
colored headscarves, and dazzling gold earrings; they carried
vicious machetes thrust through sashes at their waists. They
looked as though they still cherished their ancient reputation.
I became friends with an elder named Buli, a shipbuilder who
practiced his art in the manner of his ancestors. One day, when he
and I were lunching together, he observed that his people never
saw themselves as pirates; they were merely defending their
homeland against intruders. "Now," he said, handing me a slice of
a luscious fruit, "we're at a loss. How can a handful of people in
wooden sailing ships fight off America's submarines, airplanes,
bombs, and missiles?"
Questions like that got to me. Eventually, they convinced me
to change my ways.
5
A Corrupt and Brutal Country
Years after my conversation with the Buginese shipbuilder, I
ended my EHM career. The decision to do so, as described in
Confessions, was made while on a sailing vacation among
Caribbean islands that once were strongholds for pirates who
plundered Spain's Gold Fleet. Late one afternoon, sitting on the
ruined walls of an ancient sugar plantation, contemplating the
horrors experienced by the African slaves who constructed those
buildings, I understood that I too was a slaver. Following years of
emotional turmoil, I made up my mind to get out. I flew back to
Boston and quit. But I did not expose the horrible facts behind
this new empire. I succumbed to threats and bribes. I deferred.
And, during the ensuing years, my past haunted me. I had to live
with what I had done and what I knew. Then shortly after 9/11,
standing at the edge of that horrible, smoldering pit that had once
been the World Trade Center, I knew that at last I had to step
forward. I had to confess.
After the publication of Confessions of an Economic Hit Man
in 2004, as I began to field questions from radio interviewers, I
realized that I understood little about the ways my actions as an
EHM impacted the countries where I had worked. We had
defeated the Soviet Union and emerged as the world's first truly
global empire, unchallenged by any other superpower. We
bragged about "progress" and "industrialization." We had created
a new class of Third World elites, the lackeys of the
corporatocracy. But what about the majority of the people in the
places we had subjugated? I decided to update myself, beginning
with the country where I had started my 1areer.
I had kept abreast of general events in Indonesia, through the
EMPIRE
mainstream media; now I began to dig deeper, researching
information that was available from nongovernmental
organizations (NGOs) and academics, as well as from the United
Nations, the World Bank, and the other organizations I once had
served. My curiosity deepened as I became more familiar with the
circumstances surrounding the 1997 Asian economic collapse,
also known as the "IMF crisis." This debacle began in Asia,
where it impacted hundreds of millions of people and resulted in
thousands—possibly millions—of deaths from disease, starvation,
and suicides, and then spread across the globe. For those willing
to listen, it sent a strong message about the true intent of the IMF
and the World Bank, a lesson in how not to manage an economy,
unless the goal is to further enrich the corporatocracy at the
expense of everyone else.
On first glance, the official statistics indicated that our work in
the 1970s in Indonesia had produced an admirable economic record, at least until 1997. Those statistics bragged of low inflation,
foreign exchange reserves totaling more than $20 billion, a trade
surplus of more than $900 million, and a solid banking sector.
Indonesia's economic growth (measured by GDP) averaged nearly
9 percent every year in the 1990s, until 1997—not as spectacular
as the double-digit forecasts I had been paid to produce, but
highly impressive nevertheless. Economists at the World Bank,
IMF, consulting firms, and academic institutions used such
statistics to argue that the development policies promoted by us
EHMs had proven successful.
I soon ascertained, however, that the statistics did not address
the extremely high price the Indonesian people had paid for what
the economists referred to as an "economic miracle." The benefits
were restricted to those at the top of the economic ladder. Rapid
advances in national income were achieved through the abuse of
cheap and plentiful labor, in sweatshops where workers endured
long hours and suffered life-threatening conditions, and with policies granting foreign corporations licenses to destroy the environment and conduct activities that were outlawed in North America
36A CORRUPT AND BRUTAL COUNTRY
and the rest of the "First World." Although the minimum wage
rose to around three dollars a day, it was often ignored. In 2002,
an estimated 52 percent of Indonesia's population lived on less
than two dollars a day, which from most perspectives is
comparable to modern-day slavery. Even three dollars a day was
not sufficient to provide basic amenities to many of the workers
and their families.
It is no coincidence that Indonesia acquiesced to policies that
so burdened her people. The horrendous debts incurred to amass
fortunes for the country's elites left it no choice. According to the
Global Development Finance report of the World Bank and IMFIFS (IMF's International Financial Statistics), the country
consistently averaged the highest foreign debt (as a percentage of
gross domestic product, or GDP) of all Asian countries. During
the critical 1990-96 period that ushered in the 1997 Asian
collapse, this number hovered around or above 60 percent
(compared to about 35 percent for Thailand, 15 percent for both
China and Hong Kong, and 10 percent for Singapore and
Taiwan). Its debt service plus short-term debt as a percentage of
foreign reserves averaged close to a whopping 300 percent during
the 1990-96 period (compared to about 120 percent for Thailand,
60 percent for China, and 25 percent for Hong Kong and Taiwan
[this figure not available for Singapore]). It was clear that we had
burdened this country with such staggering amounts of debt that it
could not possibly repay them; Indonesians were forced to redeem
themselves by satisfying the desires of our corporations. We
EHMs had achieved our objective.1
Once again national economic yardsticks had proven highly
deceptive. As is so often the case, in Indonesia the glowing
foreign exchange, favorable trade balance, low inflation, and
impressive GDP growth figures described the condition of a
small, wealthy segment of the population. Everyone else lived
outside the mainstream— measurable—economy; they carried a
terrible burden.
Perhaps nowhere is the connection between poverty, corporate
abuses, and the U.S. consumer more apparent than in Indonesian
sweatshops (which are typical of those in many other countries).
Major international corporations, supported by World Bank and
IMF policies that encourage privatization and tax relief for
foreign companies, either own factories or contract out to ones
where human beings are grossly underpaid and, if they protest,
are beaten or killed. They suffer horrible lives so that merchandise
can be sold at low prices in "First World" stores.
People approached me as I traveled around the United States
on my book tour for Confessions to tell me that companies like
Nike, Adidas, Ralph Lauren, Wal-Mart, and The Gap were
benefiting from what amounted to slave labor. One intrepid
couple offered a particularly disturbing account based on their
own shocking personal experiences in Indonesia.
6
Sweatshops
In 2005 I was contacted by two filmmakers, Jim Keady and
Leslie Kretzu. They requested an on-camera interview with me.
Taiking over the phone and through e-mails with them, I
concluded that they were the antithesis of EHMs and represented
a new wave of activists.
"In addition to interviewing you, we want you to know about
Indonesia's sweatshops," Leslie told me when we finally got
together. She briefly explained that in 2000 they had lived with
Nike factory workers in Indonesia, "under the same terrible
conditions, surviving on the same wages—or at least trying to."
I asked what had motivated them to do it.
"It seems so long ago," Leslie said. "I joined the Jesuit
Volunteer Corps. They warned me that I'd never be the same.
Their motto is 'JVC: Ruined for life.' I saw things I couldn't
believe: poverty and suffering. I guess I was ruined for life. Then
I worked with Mother Teresa's folks in India. I wanted to help her
'poorest of the poor.' Once you've lived with people like that you
can never be the same, never return to your old ways, never
forget. You simply have to do something."
I looked at Jim.
"I was kidnapped by God," he said, laughing. "Sounds funny,
but I'm absolutely serious. When I was in high school I thought I
would go to Wall Street, make millions, and retire by thirty-five.
Then I took a trip around the world in 1993. I was twenty-one. I
visited developing countries for the first time: Indonesia, Laos,
Vietnam, Burma, Nepal, to name a few. I saw real poverty. It
contextualized the sixteen years of Catholic school teachings I
had received, including a B.S.
EMPIRE
from Saint Joseph's University. I now understood who Jesus
was fighting for. It was the beginning of my commitment to fight
for the same things. Not just Jesus, of course, but also the Prophet
Muhammad, the prophets in the Jewish tradition, the Buddha, and
every other revered spiritual figure. In fact all of the world's major
religions have social justice at their core."
I asked them to summarize their story in writing.
We started paying attention to Nike's labor practices back in
1998 when Jim was an assistant soccer coach at St. John's
University in New York City. He was studying for a Masters
degree in Theology while coaching, and decided for a paper topic
to examine Nike's labor practices in light of Catholic Social
Teaching. As he started his research, the Athletic Department at
St. John's University began to negotiate a $3.5 million dollar
endorsement deal with Nike that would require all coaches and
athletes to wear and promote Nike products. He first said
privately, then publicly, that as a matter of conscience, he did not
want to be a walking advertisement for a company with alleged
sweatshop labor practices. At one of the largest Catholic
universities in the country he was given an ultimatum: Wear Nike
and stop questioning the deal, or resign. In June 1998, he was
forced to resign.
Jim wanted to be 100% sure of his position, so he asked Nike
if he could work in one of their factories for a month to get a
sense of the conditions. Nike said that one month wouldn't be long
enough, that he didn't speak any Southeast Asian languages, and
that he would displace a worker. Jim wrote back that if one month
wasn't long enough, he'd go for 6 months or a year—however
long it would take to get a sense of the working conditions and
determine whether or not these were sweatshop jobs. He pointed
out that since he spoke Spanish, Nike could send him to a factory
in Central America. And for the worker he displaced, Jim found a
nonprofit in Oregon (where Nike headquarters are based) that
agreed to fly the worker to the US and give him or her a room,
board, and living stipend, essentially a vacation for the duration
of the time Jim took over the job. Nike wrote back saying that they
weren't interested in his offer.
40SWEATSHOPS
Because Jim could not work in a Nike factory, we decided to
do the only thing we could think of as an alternative: to live with
workers in their village and economically restrict ourselves to the
wages that they are paid. So in 2000, we went to Tangerang,
Indonesia, outside Jakarta, to live with Nike factory workers on
their basic wage—$1.25/day.
In one month, Leslie lost 15 pounds and Jim lost 25 pounds.
Like Nike's workers, we lived in a small gxg cement box, with no
furniture and no air conditioning—in this steaming tropical city.
We slept on thin mats on an uneven cement floor covered in shelf
paper, which had a constant layer of ash and grit from the
burning garbage, factory pollution, and car exhaust fumes. The
toilets drained into open sewers on both sides of every street.
Because of the sewers, the village was infested with fist-sized
cockroaches and the biggest rats we'd ever seen.
Some people say to us, "You can live like a king on $1.25 a
day in a place like Indonesia." It's a statement filled with apathy
and misinformation. Most who make such claims have never even
been to Indonesia. For $1.25 we were able to buy 2 small meals
of rice and vegetables and a couple of bananas. If we wanted
soap or toothpaste, we had to eat less food. One day Jim knocked
over the kerosene for our small portable stove while cleaning, and
we had to use our laundry soap to clean up the mess. It was a
disaster—devastating financially, and therefore emotionally as
well.
Try on these shoes. You are a 20-something adult working
Sam to Hpm, Monday through Saturday and sometimes Sunday.
That doesn't include travel time or preparing yourself for work.
You don't have the money to celebrate a friend's birthday. You
can't afford a radio or even think about a television. You haven't
bought yourself something new to wear in over 2 years. When you
get home at the end of the day, you have to spend 30-45 minutes
doing your laundry by hand. You don't have many clothes, and
whatever you wear is visibly dirty at the end of the day. If you're a
woman, when you menstruate you still get only the allotted two
bathroom breaks per day allowed to everyone; so you have to tie
a scarf around your waist or wear a long shirt to cover the blood
stains on your pants.
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You're exhausted. You can feel the tired in your bones. You're
afraid that if you speak up, you'll lose your job. And the
multinational company you work for is telling the world that
they've made serious changes, and consumers need not worry.
You're 100% happy.
Unfortunately, it wasn't just Nike workers who lived in these
conditions and on these wages. We spoke to people producing for
Adidas, Reebok, The Gap, Old Navy, Tommy Hilfiger, Polo/Ralph
Lauren, Lotto, Vila, and Levi's. All earned the same poverty
wages, lived in the same type of slums, and had the same requests
of their corporate buyers: give us higher wages and the freedom
to organize independent unions.
Nike workers were living degraded, unhealthy lives—ones
most people from the United States cannot imagine. But wealthy
Indonesians, along with foreigners, enjoyed the good life. When I
was an EHM, there was one hotel in Jakarta that was the place
where people like me stayed: the Intercontinental Indonesia.
Today, the vast selection includes a Four Seasons, Marriott,
Hyatt, Hilton, Crowne Plaza, Sheraton, Mandarin, Le Meridien,
Millennium, Ritz-Carlton, and a number of others. These are the
homes-away-from-home for U.S. corporate executives, where
they wine and dine their Indonesian underlings and clients. From
their rooms, high above the city, they can look out toward
Tangerang and the other "suburbs" where the city's workers live.
They may try to deny culpability by pointing out that their
companies do not own the factories, but they must feel the terrible
guilt that comes from the deeper understanding that they are
responsible.
"Nike squeezes the factory owners mercilessly," Jim said.
"Nike's people know the cost of producing every shoelace and
sole—to the penny. They push and push, forcing the owners to
keep the costs at a bare minimum. In the end, the factory owner—
often Chinese— is compelled to accept a very small profit."
"The owners are a lot better off than the workers," Leslie said,
sighing. "But they too are exploited. Nike calls the shots. And
pockets the dough."
42SWEATSHOPS
"We zero in on Nike," Jim explained, "because it's the industry
leader—it has a much greater market share than all its
competitors. It sets the pace. If we can force Nike to do better,
everyone else will follow."
Another aspect of "progress" in Indonesia is experienced by
the corporate executives every time they step out of one of their
luxury hotels. The becaks are gone. Those bicycle cabs festooned
with fanciful murals were banned from Jakarta's main streets in
1994. President Suharto claimed they symbolized a backward
country. Unfortunately, his decision relegated tens of thousands
of drivers to the ranks of the unemployed. The visitor will instead
be assaulted by Bajajs, small motorized three-wheeled scooter
"taxis" enclosed in orange metal shells. Developed originally for
India by Vespa, the Bajaj, according to Suharto, represented
modernization. It is noisy, polluting, hot, and dangerous. Unlike
the becaks, Bajajs are all identical, the brilliant rainbow-colored
paintings replaced by ubiquitous orange. An estimated twentythousand now clog the capital's streets. Most becak drivers never
received the training necessary to operate a Bajaj; many also work
in sweatshops.
One U.S. administration after another supported Suharto's
dictatorship. However, the Jakarta government came under harsh
criticism from NGOs. Watchdog organizations condemned its
serious violations of international and local laws, its human rights
abuses, and its willingness to sacrifice democratic principles in
order to satisfy multinational corporations and members of the
president's inner circle. The New York Times reported that
"Indonesia regularly ranks among the world's most corrupt
countries in international surveys."2
"I can't believe how bad things got," Neil, a former CIA
operative, told me. He attended one of my book signings, lingered
afterward, and offered to buy me a beer. We spent several hours
talking into the night. We met again several months later when I
visited my in-laws near San Francisco. He had joined the CIA
because his Chinese parents raised him to hate Mao. "I was
idealistic when I was stationed in Jakarta. It was '81. I believed
we had to keep the Commies out of
EMPIRE
Indonesia." He became disillusioned during the U.S. invasion
of Panama in 1989, feeling that it would turn people around the
world against the United States. He retired from government work
shortly afterward and went into "private practice." Eventually, in
2005, he returned to Indonesia to head up a security team
guarding tsunami reconstruction efforts against freedom fighters
in Aceh province. "My God, this last trip was an eye-opener!
Jakarta looks like a big modern city—sparkling skyscrapers,
luxury hotels, but beneath the surface ... things are worse than
ever. Corruption's rampant. And we do the corrupting."
When I asked why, after quitting the CIA, he continued in a
similar profession, he answered, "It's all I know, a living." Then,
the second reason that, like the first, I hear often from jackals.
"Besides, there's no substitute for the high you get. Skydivers and
motorcycle racers do it for the rush, but that's nothing compared
to facing a man who wants to kill you."
Statements like that send chills along my spine. I think about
my dad and other World War II heroes. How would they feel to
know that our corporations and government encourage men to
become addicted to killing for killing's sake? In writing
Confessions, I wrestled with the horrible guilt of what I had done.
Now I was discovering that the consequences were more tragic
than even I had imagined.
44
7
United States-Supported Slaughter
Some of the worst Indonesian human rights and environmental
violations began in East Timor about the time I was living in
Ujung Pandang. Like Sulawesi, East Timor was a remote island
that was considered to be rich in oil and gas deposits, in addition
to gold and manganese. Unlike Sulawesi, which was part of
Indonesia, East Timor had been governed by the Portuguese for
four centuries. While 90 percent of Indonesians were Muslims,
East Timor was predominantly Roman Catholic.
East Timor declared itself independent from Portugal on November 28, 1975. Nine days later Indonesia invaded. The brutal
occupation forces slaughtered an estimated 200,000 people, one
third of the population of East Timor.3
Documents released by the National Security Archive
establish that the U.S. government not only supplied the weapons
used in the massacre but also explicitly approved the invasion.
According to these records, President Gerald Ford and Secretary
of State Henry Kissinger met with Suharto on December 6,1975,
and agreed with his planned attack, which was launched the next
day. The documents also reveal that the Carter administration
blocked declassification of this information in 1977.
Joao Carrascalao, brother of the former governor of East
Timor and a political leader now in exile, was interviewed by
Amy Goodman on Democracy Now! thirty-five years to the day
after the invasion. He stated: "I arrived at Jakarta one hour before
President Ford and Henry Kissinger landed in Jakarta. And on the
same night, I was informed by Colonel Suyanto—he was a top
officer in
EMPIRE
the Jakarta administration—that America had given the green
light for Indonesia to invade Timor."
Brad Simpson, assistant professor of history at the University
of Maryland and research assistant to the National Security Archive, told Amy: "These documents lay out a 25-year pattern of
deceit by successive U.S. administrations. Keeping the details of
Indonesia's planned invasion of East Timor from the American
public and from the international community, systematically suppressing or discounting credible reports of massacres taking place
in East Timor through the mid-1980s, and working to circumvent
possible congressional bans on military systems to keep the pipeline of weapons flowing."4
Twenty years after the invasion, two of Indonesia's most vocal
critics were elevated to international status. East Timorese
activists Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo and Jose RamosHorta received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1996. The award sent
shock waves through Jakarta, Washington, and into the corridors
of Wall Street.
The East Timor massacre is just one of many police-state
policies carried out under Suharto. Dispatching the military to
these independence-minded regions was justified as necessary to
halt communism during the 1970s. The idea that most rebellions
were driven by a desperate desire to shake off the yoke of
Suharto's repressive regime and that the rebels turned to countries
like China only as a last resort—for military and medical
assistance—was ignored by the mainstream U.S. press. Also
ignored by the media was the fact that bolstering Suharto served
the corporatocracy's interests. Suharto's determination to control
the entire archipelago— even regions that did not possess coveted
resources—was taken very seriously by both Washington and
Wall Street. The corporatoc-racy understood that it had to support
the dictator's grandiose vision of a united Indonesia if it wanted to
enjoy a free reign over areas that possessed the resources it
craved.
On the northern tip of Sumatra, in oil- and gas-rich Aceh
province, more than ten thousand people have been killed by the
military
46UNITED STATES-SUPPORTED SLAUGHTER
since the time I lived in Indonesia. Thousands more died in
clashes in the Molucca Islands, West Kalimantan (Borneo), and
Irian Jaya (New Guinea). In case after case the true objective of
the armed forces was to secure resources coveted by multinational
corporations that, in essence, funded Suharto's government.
Although oil- and other mineral-extracting companies took the
lead, they were joined by a wide variety of corporations that
benefited from Indonesia's cheap labor, natural resources, and
markets for development projects and consumer goods. Indonesia
is a prime example of an economy built around investment by the
international banking and commercial communities. Backed by
the promise of paying off loans through its resources, it went deep
into debt to finance infrastructure projects that in turn generated
demand for hotels, restaurants, shopping malls, and the
construction, service, banking, and transportation activities that
accompany these. Wealthy Indonesians and foreigners gained,
while the majority of Indonesians suffered. Resistance
movements were beaten back by the armed forces.
Like the people, Indonesia's environment suffered severely.
Mines, pulp and paper factories, and other resource-exploiting
industries denuded enormous areas of one of the world's largest
rainforests. Rivers were clogged with toxic wastes. The air around
industrial sites and cities was laden with pollution. In 1997,
Southeast Asia made world headlines when it was covered in a
haze of noxious smoke generated by out-of-control forest fires in
Indonesia—the consequence of EHM-induced corruption.
Other victims of the "economic miracle" are the Bugis, Dyaks,
Melanesias, and other indigenous cultures; their lands have been
stolen and their lives and traditions destroyed. This modern genocide cannot be measured solely in terms of human suffering; it is
an attack on the soul of humanity, and especially discouraging in
light of earlier genocides, including ones conducted in the United
States against our indigenous people. While those are condemned
today, the model is repeated—and financed by the U.S.
government and our corporations.
EMPIRE
When the growing economic crisis began to severely impact
his country, Suharto bought into the IMF Structural Adjustment
Package (SAP). The IMF recommended that Suharto drop fuel
and food subsidies and many other social services to decrease
spending. Blatantly imbalanced in favor of the rich, these policies
resulted in increased starvation, disease, and antagonism.
Masses of Indonesians finally took to the streets. Even the
wealthy, fearing increased mayhem, demanded change. Suharto
was forced to resign in May 1998, ending his thirty-two years of
dictatorial rule. In September 1999, the Clinton administration
severed all military ties with the Indonesian military.
However, these events by no means marked the end for the
corporatocracy. On the contrary, they ultimately strengthened its
position. Indonesians in power took credit for ousting the dictator
and portrayed themselves as friends of the people. The U.S.
government and multinational corporations hailed Suharto's
downfall and supported the new regime. Then on December 26,
2004, a tragedy occurred that would provide new opportunities
for the corporatocracy to entrench itself. The day after Christmas,
the tsunami struck.
Around a quarter million people would ultimately die from the
huge waves. However, the businesses involved in the
reconstruction— many of them U.S. firms—saw the devastation
as a profit-making occasion. Earthquakes, hurricanes, and
tsunamis kill hundreds of thousands of people and destroy
property, yet they boost GDP. The death and destruction does not
make it into the economic statistics books; yet the billions of
dollars spent on reconstruction do, creating a falsely positive
impression.
Most U.S. citizens are not aware that national disasters are like
wars: They are highly profitable for big business. A great deal of
the money for rebuilding after disasters is earmarked for U.S. engineering firms and for multinational corporations that own hotel,
restaurant, and retail chains, communications and transportation
48
networks, banks, insurance companies, and other
corporatocracy industries. Rather than helping subsistence
farmers, fishermen, mom-and-pop restaurants, bed-andbreakfasts, and local entrepreneurs, "disaster relief" programs
provide one more vehicle for channeling money to the empire
builders.
8
Tsunami Profiteering
December 26, 2004, was a black day. Not only for the
immediate victims of the terrible tsunami, but also for all of us
who believe in compassion, charity, and goodwill to our fellow
inhabitants of this planet. The tragic story behind the shameless
exploitation began several months before that natural disaster
struck.
Indonesia selected another military man as president in
September 2004. Gen. Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, according to
The New York Times, "moved swiftly up the ranks during the
authoritarian rule of Gen. Suharto .. ."5
He had been chosen for military training at Fort Benning,
Georgia, in 1976, and completed two tours in the United States
under the International Military Education and Training Program.
After the tsunami, he became the perfect leader to shatter the
independence movement in Aceh province.
Like many of the local movements throughout the archipelago,
the one in Aceh was driven by a desire to gain independence from
a government that was viewed as economically exploitative and
brutally repressive. While their environment and culture suffered
at the hands of foreign corporations, the people of Aceh received
few benefits. One of Indonesia's largest resource projects, a
liquefied natural gas (LNG) facility, is located in Aceh, yet only a
tiny percentage of the LNG profits are directed to local schools,
hospitals, and other investments that would help those most
adversely impacted by the venture.
"Resource-rich Aceh has been yearning for independence
from Indonesia for five decades," according to Melissa Rossi, an
award-winning journalist who has written for Newsweek,
Newsday (New
50TSUNAMI PROFITEERING
York), Esquire, George, MSNBC, and The New York
Observer, and who occasionally sends me personal e-mails from
global hot spots. "Oil wells line the coasts, which explains why
the Indonesian government is clamped onto Aceh like a leech."6
Although few records were released to the public, an estimated
ten to fifteen thousand people were killed during thirty years of
fighting in the province before the tsunami swept out of the ocean
and across the land.7
Secret talks between the government and the Free Aceh Movement (GAM, in Indonesian, for Gerakan Aceh Merdeka8) began
in 2004. GAM appeared to have gained a bargaining position that
would allow the people of Aceh to share some of the profits
generated from oil, gas, and other local resources; a degree of
local self-rule; and other rights demanded for decades. However,
the tsunami changed all that.
Because GAM was a local organization, centered in the area
destroyed by the giant waves, it was seriously impaired by the
chaotic aftermath. Some of its key people died or suffered the loss
of family members. Its communications and transportation
systems were devastated. It redirected its activities away from the
resistance and bargaining processes and into caring for tsunami
victims and managing recovery efforts.
The government, on the other hand, moved quickly to take advantage of the pandemonium. Fresh troops were flown in from
Java and other unaffected areas of Indonesia; within months they
would be bolstered by U.S. military personnel and mercenaries,
like Neil, the ex-CIA operative who headed up a team that
guarded U.S. contractors. Although the armed forces took
command under the pretext of relieving disaster victims, their
unspoken goals included quashing GAM.
The Bush administration wasted no time. In the month after
the tsunami, January 2005, Washington reversed the 1999 policy i
rnplemented by Clinton that had severed ties with Indonesia's repressive military. The White House dispatched $1 million worth
of military equipment to Jakarta. The New York Times reported on
EMPIRE
February 7, 2005: "Washington is seizing on an opportunity
that came after the tsunami. . . Secretary of State Condoleezza
Rice has moved to strengthen American training of Indonesian
officers considerably... In Aceh, the Indonesian Army, which has
been fighting a separatist rebellion for 30 years, has been on full
display since the tsunami. .. The army's uppermost concern
appears to be to keep a stranglehold on the armed forces of the
Free Aceh Movement."9 In November 2005, Washington lifted
the arms embargo and resumed full relations with the Indonesian
military.10
Exhausted by their efforts to recover from the disaster and
help local communities rebuild, and faced with overwhelming
pressure from the Indonesian army and its U.S. supporters, GAM
signed a very one-sided peace treaty with the government. Once
again, the corporatocracy was—and is—the big winner. The
tsunami virtually assured that the exploitation of Aceh will
continue unabated.
A cogent example of the way natural disasters are exploited by
the corporatocracy is offered by Aceh's Leuser Ecosystem. For
three decades, local resistance had kept lumber and oil companies
out of one of the world's richest forests. Now that GAM has been
crushed, the region is reopened to exploitation.
Mike Griffiths, a former oil company executive, left his
lucrative job and devoted himself to ecological conservation in
the mid-1980s. He helped found the Leuser International
Foundation in 1994. He guided NPR's Radio Expeditions program
to Aceh in 2006. Radio Expeditions' host, Michael Sullivan,
reported, "With peace, the pressure on the forest is likely to
increase, and the biggest threat—even more than logging of
valuable tropical hardwoods and oil palm plantations—is roads."
The radio program went on to explain that immediately following
the tsunami, U.S. engineering and construction companies lobbied
the World Bank and other "aid" agencies for money to construct
these roads, which will primarily serve the lumber and oil
industries. Mike Griffiths told NPR: "If you loose the Leuser
Ecosystem, you don't only lose the last real chance for the tiger,
the orangutan, for the elephant and for
52
the rhino; you lose the basic foundations for the welfare for
four million people—that is how many rely on this place for
water, flood protection and erosion protection."11
The relationship between Indonesian ruling elites, the U.S.
government, and international corporations is indicative of
methods employed by the corporatocracy around the world during
the post-World War II era. Empire building has been conducted
largely in secret. Since democracy assumes an informed
electorate, these methods pose a direct threat to America's most
coveted ideal. They also serve as a disturbing commentary on the
results of my work and that of so many "development experts."
The insidious nature of our work was highlighted for me
personally by three separate incidents. They were exposed after
the 2004 tsunami, although the roots of each reached back into
my earlier career.
9
Fruits of Corruption
In Confessions of an Economic Hit Man I describe my
connection in the late 1980s and 1990s with Stone and Webster
Engineering Company (SWEC), at that time one of the nation's
largest and most respected consulting and construction firms, and
the fact that I was paid about a half million dollars by SWEC with
the understanding that I would desist from writing a book about
my EHM life. Occasionally, the company asked me to actually
perform a service for them.
One day in 1995, a high-level SWEC executive called to
request a meeting with me. Over lunch, he discussed a project to
construct a chemicals processing complex in Indonesia. It would
be, he assured me, one of the largest projects in the company's
one-hundred-year history, worth about $1 billion. "I'm determined
to land this one," he said and then, lowering his voice, admitted,
"but I can't do it until I figure a way to pay one of Suharto's
family members $150 million."
"A bribe," I responded.
He nodded. "You've spent a lot of time in Indonesia. Fill me in
on how to make this happen."
I told him that I knew of four ways to pay the man a "legal
bribe." SWEC could arrange to lease bulldozers, cranes, trucks,
and other heavy equipment from companies owned by him and
his friends and pay excessive fees; they could subcontract
portions of the project to similarly owned companies at inflated
prices; they could use that same model to contract for food,
housing, cars, fuel, and other such items; and they could offer to
arrange for the sons and daughters of the Indonesian's cronies to
attend prestigious U.S. colleges,
54FRUITS OF CORRUPTION
cover all their expenses, and pay them consultant or intern
salaries while they were in the United States. Although I
acknowledged that arranging for such a large sum would probably
require all four approaches and would take several years, I
assured him that I had seen all of these schemes used very
successfully and was unaware of any legal actions ever taken
against a U.S. company or its executives as a result. I also
suggested that he explore the idea of retaining geishas to help seal
the deal.
"The geishas," he informed me with a conspiratorial grin, "are
already hard at work." As to the rest, he expressed concern that
Suharto's man wanted "cash up front."
I had to admit that I knew no way to make such amounts of
cash available "up front." At least not legally.
He thanked me. I heard nothing further from him on this issue.
A decade later, on March 15, 2006, The Boston Globe carried
the following banner headline across the front page of its
Business section: THE 'BRIBE MEMO' AND COLLAPSE OF STONE &
WEBSTER. The article told the tragic story of how the company's
glorious history, which began in 1889, came crashing to an end
when it filed for bankruptcy in 2000 and ended up owned by the
Shaw Group. According to the Globe, "well over 1,000
employees were fired, their savings in Stone & Webster stock
lost." Globe reporter Steve Bailey concluded that the downfall
could be traced to "The critical memo (that) lays out in detail a
previously unreported secret attempt by the company to pay an
illegal $147 million kickback to a relative of Indonesian President
Suharto to secure the largest contract in Stone & Webster
history."12
The second incident started with an e-mail I received from the
son of an Indonesian government official whom I had worked
with during the 1970s, requesting a meeting with me.
Emil (not his real name) joined me at a quiet Thai restaurant
on New York's Upper West Side. He told me that he had been
deeply moved by Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. His father
had introduced him to me in Jakarta when he was about ten years
old. He
EMPIRE
remembered hearing my name often. He knew, he said, that
his father was one of those corrupt officials I described in my
book. Then, looking me squarely in the eye, he admitted that he
had followed in his father's footsteps. "I want to come clean," he
told me. "I want to confess, like you." He smiled softly. "But I
have a family and a great deal to lose. I'm sure you understand
what I mean."
I assured him that I would never divulge his name or in any
way expose his identity.
Emil's story was a revealing one. He pointed out that the
Indonesian military has a long history of collecting money from
the private sector in order to finance its activities. He tried to
make light of this, shrugging it off with a laugh, observing that
such activities were common in Third World countries. Then he
grew serious. "Since the fall of Suharto in 1998, things have
gotten even worse. Suharto was truly a military dictator who was
determined to keep the armed forces under his control. Once his
reign ended, many Indonesians tried desperately to change the
law so that civilians would have more power over the military.
They thought that by reducing the military budget, they could
accomplish their objectives. The generals knew where to go for
help: foreign mining and energy companies."
I told Emil that his words reminded me of similar situations in
Colombia, Nigeria, Nicaragua, and so many other countries where
private militias are used to supplement national armies.
"Yes," he agreed. "We've got many mercenaries in Indonesia.
But what I'm talking about is worse. In the last few years, our
army's been bought out by foreign corporations. The implications
are frightening because, you see, these corporations now own our
armed forces as well as our resources."
When I asked him why he was divulging this information, he
turned away and looked outside the window of the restaurant at
the passing traffic. Finally, his eyes returned to meet mine. "I'm a
collaborator. I've taken my father's corruption a step further. I'm
one of the people who make the arrangements, collect the money
from
56FRUITS OF CORRUPTION
companies, and pass it on to the military. I'm ashamed. The
least I can do is talk to you and hope you let the world know
about what's going on."
Weeks after my meeting with Emil, an article caught my eye
as I scanned The New York Times Web site. It detailed the
activities of a New Orleans-based company, Freeport-McMoRan
Copper and Gold, that made "payments of $20 million to military
commanders and units in the area (Papua) in the last seven years
in exchange for protection of its facilities in the remote province."
The article went on to assert that, "Only one-third of the financing
for Indonesia's armed forces comes from the state budget, while
the rest is collected from nontransparent sources such as
'protection payments,' allowing the military brass to operate
independently of the government's financial controls."13
That article led me to two others that had appeared on The
Times Web site in September 2004. They described recent events
in my old stomping ground, Sulawesi, documenting allegations
that the world's largest gold-producing company, Newmont
Mining Corp., based in Denver, was illegally dumping arsenic
and mercury into the ocean at Buyat Bay. As I read these articles,
I realized my work—the electrical systems, roads, ports, and other
infrastructure that we EHMs financed and built back in the
1970s—had created the conditions that enabled Newmont to
conduct its mining activities and poison the ocean. As my project
manager, Charlie Illingworth, pointed out on my first trip, we
were dispatched to Indonesia to make sure the oil companies got
everything they needed; it did not take long for me to understand
that our mission was not limited to oil companies. Sulawesi was a
prime example of how "aid" money benefits the multinationals.
The Times article pointed out that "the fight with Newmont
has fueled a growing popular impression that mining and energy
companies hold a tight grip over Indonesia's weak regulatory
system. Many blame the corruption, cronyism and unevolved
legal structure inherited from General Suharto, the dictator whose
rule ended
57
in 1998 and who, for a price, eagerly opened the doors to
foreign investors."14
As I stared at those articles, the allegations by the mayor of
"Batsville" and the Bugi shipbuilder superimposed themselves
over my computer screen, like biblical prophets come back to
haunt me. The United States had indeed sent its bats off to exploit
and pollute foreign lands. Sailors on ancient wooden galleons,
armed with machetes, had little chance of defending their
homeland against the might of the Pentagon.
Or against the more subtle armies of corporate henchmen.
10
Attacked and Beaten in Indonesia
During my talks, audience members sometimes refer to news
reports that Nike and similar companies are improving. I, like
most people I meet, want to believe this. We hope that Nike
founder Phil Knight and other executives in leadership positions
act responsibly. I contacted Leslie and Jim, the couple who had
tried to live like Nike factory workers in Indonesia and were now
producing a documentary movie about sweatshops. Their emailed reply was not reassuring:
Since our trip in 2000, we have returned twice and have kept
in contact with workers and labor organizers. Marginal changes
at best have been made, but the real issues of wages and the
rights to form independent unions are no better for workers now
than they were in 2000, despite Nike's attempts to make the public
think otherwise.
The government minimum wage has risen in Indonesia, but the
price of food, water, cooking oil, clothing, housing and other
basic necessities has risen at the same rate. Workers are still
forced to make decisions like "eat or let my child eat." The last
time we were in Indonesia, a Nike factory worker whom we have
interviewed since 2000 and who has worked in a Nike factory for
8 years came to greet us. She gave us a solemn hug, a strained
half-smile and said forcefully "nothing's changed."
What has changed is the price of oil, and therefore the cost of
transportation to and from the factories. It now costs workers up
to 30% of their already inadequate salary just to get to and from
work. Where does the money come from for increased
transportation costs? The women and men working 6-7 days a
week for multi-billion dollar corporations are sometimes forced
to eat rice with salt for their two meals per day.
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In the late lggo's, Nike responded to criticism about sweatshop
conditions saying that critics didn't know what they were talking
about and that the subcontracted factories were owned by
someone else—therefore Nike did not have the power to make
changes. In 2000, Nike's response was "right issue ... wrong
company." By 2002, Nike executives were following us around the
US at the colleges and high schools where we gave lectures on
this subject. They would send a packet prior to our visit denouncing what we were going to say, then follow up with an
editorial in the student newspaper claiming we didn't have all of
the facts. And now, Nike's strategy seems to involve attending
social responsibility conferences and admitting that there are
some problems but that the answers lie in all stakeholders
working together (on Nike's terms).
Meanwhile, the same problems uncovered in the 1990'sfrom
starvation wages to bathroom breaks limited to twice a day to
verbal, physical and sexual abuse to threats and physical violence
toward union organizers continue to occur in Nike's factories
around the globe.
If Nike were to double all of their workers' wages in Indonesia
(roughly 1/6 of their workforce), it would cost them
approximately 7% of their $1.63 billion advertising budget. If
Nike redirected a portion of their advertising budget to paying the
factory more money per good, we could see most of these
sweatshop labor conditions vanish.
Leslie and Jim may be the antithesis of EHMs but they are not
beyond the reach of the jackals. They told of a dark night when
they; their cameraman, Joel; and their Indonesian driver and
translator were chased down by a group of armed thugs.
"They surrounded our car on motorcycles," Jim said. "Our
driver raced to a nearby Army checkpoint, but the soldier there
waved us through."
"He was frantic to get rid of us," Leslie added. "He wasn't
about to cross those guys, the equivalent of an Indonesian mafia.
"Our driver was forced to pull over. We were hustled out at
gunpoint and pushed around. I thought sure," Leslie said with a
visible
60
shudder, "that we were goners, would be listed among the 'disappeared.' "
They survived but their driver was severely beaten. "A
warning," Joel muttered.
"Did you get the message?" I asked.
"We'll be more careful in the future," Jim responded. "Watch
where we go. At what hour. But we will go back. We will
complete this documentary. And show it to the world."
Reading articles about SWEC, Freeport-McMoRan, and Newmont, and hearing from Jim, Leslie, and Joel about their
experiences forced me to come face-to-face, once again, with the
legacy of my own actions—and those of everyone who purchases
sweatshop-made goods and products derived from exploitative
industries. Indonesia's story is one that has been repeated over and
over; it is the secret history of the American empire.
Unfortunately, that empire has established itself as a new standard, a model that, despite its obvious failures, is being emulated.
A 2004 trip to Tibet taught me that China has its own brand of
EHMs and jackals. Ultimately theirs may prove more effective—
and destructive—than ours.
11
Don't Become a Buddhist
Tibet is famous as the homeland of the Dalai Lama, the
spiritual leader who represents, perhaps more than any other
living person, a commitment to nonviolence. However, Tibet has
not always enjoyed such a reputation. Between 609 and 649 A.D.,
the Tibetan King Songtsen Gampo formed alliances among
warring chieftains intent on conquering neighboring fiefdoms. As
a result, the king was able to forge a vast empire. Later the region
was invaded by Genghis Khan. It became part of an empire that
has gone down in history as the epitome of brutality.
In June 2004 I led a group of thirty-four people to Tibet.
Driving through the countryside toward our first stop, the city
of Tsedang, it became obvious that one of our female guides
knew little about Tibet and barely spoke its language—in fact, it
appeared that "Suzie's" awkward English was better than her
Tibetan. Word quickly spread that she was a Chinese spy and we
should be careful of what we said. Our Nepalese guide quietly
confirmed this to several of us and asked us to spread the word.
One time, when Suzie got off the bus at a rest stop, he told us that
we should always assume that we were being listened to by
someone.
"Even in the monasteries and temples?" a woman asked.
"Especially in those places," he replied.
Tsedang sits on a Tibetan plateau. Overshadowed by snowcapped Himalayan peaks, it is one of this land's most ancient
centers of civilization. We checked into a sterile Chinese hotel. I
deposited my bags in my room and headed out. I felt the need to
get away from the group for a spell, adjust to the altitude, walk off
my jet lag, and experience Tibet. However, as I wandered around
in the late afternoon,
62DON'T BECOME A BUDDHIST
I was appalled to discover that had I been deposited on
Tsedang's streets by a magic carpet. I would never have guessed
that I had arrived in old Tibet; instead, I would have thought I had
landed in a Chinese military base.
Uniformed soldiers hustled along the newly cemented
sidewalks. Open-air markets and small shops sold Chinese
produce. Sidewalk vendors hawked garishly colored plastic
utensils, pails, and toys. While a few ancient buildings remained,
many had been replaced by military gray concrete structures. The
Tibetan people stood out in their traditional clothes. Like museum
oddities in fifteenth-century fur hats, boots, and coats, they were
apparent strangers in their own land. The soldiers regarded them
with distain, as they might treat deranged beggars. Tension
rippled through the thin Himalayan air.
As I walked on, I was burdened by a fatigue that grew more
severe with each step. At first I blamed it solely on the altitude,
similar to the Andes and Kashmir. Fatigue soon turned to
dizziness. I felt nauseated. I made my way to a cement bench and
sat down. The slogan "Free Tibet" rang in my ears and I realized
that I was suffering emotionally as well as physiologically. I
forced myself to focus on my surroundings. People scurried past.
The many Chinese and the few Tibetans appeared not to notice
me. I felt visible and vulnerable; yet apparently no one saw me
sitting there. I too could have been a deranged beggar.
When I began to recover, I remembered the photo of the Dalai
Lama I carried in my pocket. I reached for it cautiously, aware
that merely possessing it could land me in prison; photos of this
man are illegal in modern Tibet, despite the fact that millions
there still consider him their leader. I had smuggled it past the
Chinese security guards at the airport partly out of defiance, partly
because I thought I might gift it to one of his followers, but
mostly to honor t he time I had spent with His Holiness nearly
five years earlier.
The organizer of this trip, Sheena Singh, had also arranged
that 1999 trip. We had journeyed into the Indian protectorate of
Ladakh
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in the Kashmir region between Pakistan and India, which
today is populated by thousands of Tibetan refugees who are
determined to carry on the traditions forbidden by the Chinese in
their homeland. As fate would have it, the Dalai Lama was in
Ladakh that same week. Sheena knew of his interest in indigenous
cultures; she sent one of my books on the subject to him, along
with a note requesting a private audience for our group. A day
later, several of his staff arrived at our hotel with a gracious reply
explaining that his calendar was full; they presented us with a box
of his autographed books.
On our last morning in Tibet, as we waited to board our flight
to northern India, we were surprised to see the Dalai Lama and his
entourage sweep into the tiny airport. Sheena immediately
approached his secretary. The boarding process began. Before I
realized what had happened, I found myself being hustled up the
steps of the plane, prepped by our Indian guide that protocol dictated kissing one of the Dalai Lama's shoes, and led to the front
row of the Boeing 737. The Dalai Lama smiled up at me and patted the seat beside him. The idea of kissing a shoe seemed rather
odd, but having learned long ago the importance of respecting
local traditions, I awkwardly started to lean over the seat toward
his foot.
The Dalai Lama gave a little laugh and, placing a hand
beneath my chin, gently lifted my head. "Not necessary," he said
in that softly chuckling voice that the world has come to love. He
patted the seat again. "Please sit." He tapped the edge of a book
he was holding on his lap. "Wonderful," he said, turning the front
cover of my book toward me. "I'd like to learn more."
We talked extensively about indigenous people and their commitment to balance. I told him that the reason the Shuar of the
Amazon became headhunters and went to war was, according to
their own mythology, because they had allowed their populations
to grow out of control and that the resulting imbalances
threatened to destroy many life-forms; consequently, a god
ordered them to
64DON'T BECOME A BUDDHIST
take responsibility even if that required "weeding your own
garden" (killing other men).
This story seemed to strike a chord with the Dalai Lama. He
observed that while he did not condone violence, peace arrives
only when humans show true compassion for all sentient beings
and when we take individual and collective responsibility for
good stewardship of the planet. He pointed out that economic
development usually destroys other life-forms and creates
disequilibrium, making the rich richer and the poor poorer. We
discussed at length the importance of taking actions to make this a
compassionate world, not simply talking about it or praying for it.
After that flight, the Dalai Lama invited our group to his home
in Dharmasala, India. Following a cordial greeting, he said
something t hat seemed most unusual, given his position as the
leader of a spiritual movement. "Don't become a Buddhist. The
world doesn't need more Buddhists. Do practice compassion. The
world needs more compassion."
Those words echoed in my mind as I sat on the bench in
Tsedang, cupping that photo in my hands. I could not imagine
hearing such advice from the Pope. Nor from China's head of
state. Nor from the president of the United States. It was a direct
refutation of prosely-tizing and of all forms of imperialism.
Staring at the Dalai Lama's photo, contemplating his insistence
that his people not enter a cycle of violence that would taint future
generations, I felt my own inadequacy. I was furious at China.
Here in this city that epitomized the brutality of colonial empires I
felt the inappropriateness of my own a nger.
I made a vow then and there that I would devote the rest of my
life to turning things around. I would write and speak out about
the dangers of a world based on exploitation, fear, and violence. I
would search for real solutions and try to inspire people to take
concrete actions. At the same time, I understood that I had to
work on my own .ittitudes. I realized that it was not enough to
exchange one empire for another, to fight fear with more fear. We
had to break that cycle.
65
12
Biological Imperatives
We explored Tibet in a convoy of eight Toyota Land Cruisers.
As we passed peasants trudging under heavy loads, I could not
help thinking that we must convey the impression of feeling
superior, that we are The Chosen People. When we stopped for a
"restroom break" high in a mountain pass, I wandered over to a
cluster of our people and joked that we must appear to the locals
like a caravan of royalty.
"Are you kidding?" one of the men scoffed. "This is a trip
from hell. We got cars, sure, but my driver can't even shift
properly, grinds gears all the time. The Cruiser ahead of us leaks
oil. That one"—he pointed at a cloud of dust on the road behind
us—"can't keep pace with the rest. I don't think royalty would
tolerate this!"
It was true that, by American standards, the trip was rough.
We struggled over ancient silk roads that at times were no more
than potholed riverbeds. The thin Himalayan air took a toll on
both vehicles and people. At one stop, we were inundated by
clouds of biting insects. On the other hand, the scenery was
spectacular beyond imagination and we usually enjoyed clean
beds and decent food. We talked with nomads who defied
Chinese edicts not to speak to foreigners. Our guides dutifully
showed us the home of the Panchen Lama, who at six years old
had been handpicked by the Chinese to replace the boy previously
chosen by the Dalai Lama, who had disappeared. Since the
Panchen Lama must confirm the next Dalai Lama, Buddhist
monks and civilians alike took to the streets in protest; untold
numbers were imprisoned, expelled, and executed. As we continued along, we paid our respects at numerous monasteries that
had been destroyed during the Cultural Revolution.
66BIOLOGICAL IMPERATIVES
Traveling around Tibet, time and again we witnessed Chinese
oppression. It had a profound impact, serving as a constant reminder that Tibet was an occupied land, its people enslaved, its
natural wealth exploited. We discussed the idea that the United
States behaves in similar fashion in countries with resources our
corporations covet. Several of the participants had traveled to the
Amazon with me. They had witnessed the terrible destruction of
cultures and rainforests at the hands of our corporations. They had
heard the voices of indigenous people determined to die fighting
if necessary to protect their offspring against our encroaching
materialism. They had seen U.S. soldiers wandering the streets of
Amazonian towns, in a fashion similar to that of the Chinese in
Tibet. Members of our group often compared the Chinese
presence with that of the United States government and our oil,
lumber, beef, pharmaceutical, and consumer-goods companies
throughout the Amazon, Middle East, Africa, and Asia, and in the
wars of occupation in Afghanistan and Iraq.
On our way back to Lhasa and knowing that we would depart
for Nepal the following morning, we drove across the spectacular
Karo La and Khamba La passes. At seventeen thousand feet, our
caravan stopped to view a glacier. One of our guides explained
that the ice had reached almost to the road two decades earlier,
but changes in climate had caused it to recede by a quarter mile or
more. Sheep and yaks grazed beside our vehicles. Between them
and the glacier were several black tents. Roughly shoulder height
and perhaps twelve by fifteen feet, they were firmly anchored to
the ground by heavy straps that traversed their ridge poles. Smoke
poured through their roofs. Behind the tents, red, blue, yellow,
green, and white prayer flags, suspended from a series of tall
poles interconnected by a web of twine, fluttered in the chill
breeze that swept down off the glacier.
As we stepped out of the Cruisers, Tibetans emerged from the
U-nts. The men wore woolen slacks, heavy jackets, and caps, the
women long dresses festooned with brightly colored aprons. Our
6 7THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN
EMPIRE
guides explained that they were nomads who live much as
their forefathers did before the time of Christ. Through our
interpreters, the nomads told us that Yetis ("Abominable
Snowmen") lived on the glacier. They assured us that until
recently they had seen them several times a year, but over the last
ten years, with the glacier receding, the Yetis had vanished.
As we talked about the devastating impact of global warming
on the earth's glaciers, someone noticed that the nomads had set
up a little stand, and that one of our women, famous for her ability
to hone in on a bargain, was hustling from it toward us. She
informed the group that the nomads were selling crystals they had
found on the ground vacated by the glacier. The majority of our
people rushed to the vendor's stand as the word quickly circulated
that this would be the last opportunity to buy directly from the
people—as opposed to Lhasa stores.
When I asked a guide about the authenticity of the crystals, he
muttered that he did not want to interfere with the nomads' income; then, shaking his head, he added that he had heard about a
factory in China that produced such things.
I and a couple others stood watching as our group bargained
with the Tibetans.
"So much for global warning," one of my companions
observed.
"There's that magnificent glacier," the other said. "Here are
these tents, the people, yaks . . . and our group gets seduced by
crystals that are probably nothing more than glass."
Asking a translator to accompany me, I approached an old
man and woman and a young girl who were sitting nearby. The
old woman was holding a long rope that was attached to a yak.
The animal's shaggy back was covered with a beautiful blanket
decorated with brown and tan triangles; thrown across it was a
small saddle that I took to be the little girl's. The three of them
smiled warmly at me. The old woman stood and brought the yak
to my side offering to let me pat it. Then she sat back down and
invited me and the translator to join them.
68BIOLOGICAL IMPERATIVES
After introductions, I asked how they felt about the Chinese.
They glanced at each other. The girl hid her face and peered
through spread fingers, first frowning at me and then giggling.
The old man spoke up.
"You know," he said with a toothless grin, "we are
accustomed to rulers from other lands. Our stories go back long
before my grandparents' grandparents, of kings who invaded us.
We have a name for their soldiers: Nomad Killers." He patted the
girl on the shoulder. "Why should things be different in her
time?"
"The problems began," the old lady continued, "when men
took over."
I asked what she meant.
"Look at today. Everything is run by men. I once lived in the
city and tried Buddhism, but I saw that all the important jobs
there, just like the government, were held by men."
"I have to agree," the old man said. "In past times the women
kept us men under control." He grinned. "We can get pretty wild,
hunting and cutting forests, that sort of thing. The women used to
say when we had done enough."
This talk reminded me of the Shuar of the Amazon. They
believe that men and women are equal, yet have different roles.
Men kill animals for food, cut trees for firewood, and fight other
men. Women raise children, grow crops, tend the household fires,
and have the very important job of telling men when it is time to
stop. The Shuar explain that men hunt animals and cut trees even
when there is enough meat and wood, unless women rein them in.
When members of the Shuar visited the United States they were
shocked by the way nature had been destroyed and paved over
with highways, cities, and shopping malls. "What happened to the
women?" they asked. "Why haven't they stopped the men? Why
do your women always want to buy more things?"
It was amazing to find similar sentiments among tribes deep in
the Amazon and nomads at the top of the Himalayas. On the drive
back to Lhasa I kept thinking that perhaps those two groups
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represented true human values and that to change the world all
we had to do was bring the male and female into balance. Given
the corporatocracy's maleness and its interests in promoting mass
consumption, the "all we had to do" was a pretty big "all";
nevertheless, defining it made the task seem less daunting. The
important fact was that the corporatocracy's structure was based
on masculine hierarchies and its power revolved around our
willingness to accept as "normal" an extreme form of materialism.
I also realized that we had to get both genders off the shopping
addiction. How indicative that the U.S. president, after 9/11,
urged citizens to go shopping to reduce stress, bolster the
economy, and defy terrorists! Even here in Tibet, yak herders who
were far removed from the world of shopping malls had received
the message; despite their own noncon-sumptive lives, they were
selling to us.
I recalled Dr. Judith Hand's book, Women, Power, and the
Biology of Peace. In it, she points out that warfare historically
provided a vehicle for men to perform their biological imperative
of spreading sperm, while social stability is preferred by women,
who are charged with bearing, nurturing, and raising children. She
contends that in order to realize more peaceful societies women
must play larger roles in the decision-making process. What I had
just heard from the nomads seemed to confirm Dr. Hand's
conclusions. It occurred to me that since women are often the
primary shoppers in modern families, it is essential to help them
understand that today's global strife is driven by the
corporatocracy and that to promote peace they need to change
their attitudes toward materialism. They also need to demand that
the companies whose products they purchase treat their
employees—regardless of where they live—equitably.
In the city where the Dalai Lama grew up, I would learn a
very different lesson.
70
13
Dictatorships of Finance
Lhasa was the most Tibetan of all the cities we visited. The
Potala Palace where the Dalai Lama was raised, the ancient
winding alleys, multiroofed Buddhist temples, gigantic coneshaped stupas, and festive shrines inspired a sense of tranquility
that I had felt five years earlier in Ladekh and in the rural areas of
Tibet, but that was lacking in Tsedang and the other cities.
Nevertheless, the Chinese were ever-present. Soldiers swaggered
down the streets, Chinese characters filled banners and billboards,
and the plastic products that exemplify modern industrial societies
were prevalent.
We checked into the most wonderful hotel, one designed,
built, owned, and operated by Tibetans. I plunked down on my
bed, stacked with colorful pillows, and reviewed notes I had filed
on the tiny pocket PC I carry with me. I wanted to update my
thoughts about materialism, commercialism, and the role of
international business in the 1997 economic disaster that brought
so much suffering to Asia. I had already delved into the way this
crisis impacted I ndonesia. But being in Tibet, seeing and feeling
China's exploita-tion of this country, placed the tragedy of 1997
in a new perspective.
What became known as the "IMF crisis" hit South Korea,
Thailand, and Indonesia particularly hard, but it also had
devastating repercussions for many people—especially the
poor—in Laos and the Philippines. Every one of those countries
had bought into the IMF and World Bank ideology.
In the soul-searching and finger-pointing that followed the
crisis, the IMF was criticized for what many economists referred
to as “fast track capitalism"—the elimination of restrictions on
capital
EMPIRE
flows, the encouragement of privatization, the maintenance of
high interest rates as a means for enticing foreign investors and
bank capital into securities markets, and the attempt to hedge
against currency risk by pegging national currencies to the dollar,
which also served the unspoken objective of strengthening the
dollar. At the same time, prices for goods and services constantly
increased due to inflation and those high rates of interest imposed
by the IMF. It was an untenable situation. As one country after
another fell into economic collapse, local businesses and national
governments were unable to pay off loans they had accumulated
in U.S. dollars; they discovered that their earned income, which
was constantly diminishing and was paid in local currencies, had
devalued. The IMF had manipulated those countries and their
businesses into paying what amounted to a stiff tax; the owners of
the big international corporations were the beneficiaries.
When the situation continued to deteriorate, the IMF came up
with a "rescue plan." It offered new loans so the nations could
avoid defaulting. However, the deal was conditional upon each
country accepting a Structural Adjustment Package (SAP) similar
to the earlier one forced on Indonesia. In essence, each country
was required to allow local banks and financial institutions to fail,
drastically reduce government spending, cut food and fuel
subsidies and other services for the poor, and raise interest rates
still higher. In many cases they were also told to privatize and sell
more of their national assets to multinational corporations. As a
direct result, an untold number of people, especially children, died
of malnutrition, starvation, and disease. Many more suffered longterm consequences from lack of health care, education, housing,
and other social services.
The collapse that began in Asia mushroomed to global proportions, triggering recessions in Europe, South America, and the
United States. It was a lesson in how not to conduct economic
policy, if the goal was to help local people and economies. It sent
a strong message about the IMF and the World Bank.
72DICTATORSHIPS OF FINANCE
Analyses confirmed that the countries that had refused to yield
to the IMF demands did best. China was a prime example.
Although implementing policies to encourage international
investors, Beijing took a very different course from that
advocated by the IMF. Foreign investments were channeled into
factories rather than securities, thus insulating the country against
future capital flight and also providing employment and other
spin-off benefits. India, Taiwan, and Singapore defied the IMF;
their economies remained robust. Malaysia acquiesced, endured a
recession, then turned its back on SAPs and rebounded.
One of the strongest critics of the IMF was the winner of the
Nobel Prize in Economics and—ironically—also the former chief
economist of the World Bank, Joseph Stiglitz.
I had carried Stiglitz's book, Globalization and Its
Discontents, with me to Tibet. Late in the afternoon, I took a walk
by myself through the winding streets of Lhasa. I arrived at an
area that bustled with pedestrians. Farther along, I came to a small
park and sat down on an old wooden bench to bask in the fading
sunshine.
Flipping through Stiglitz's book, I once again marveled at how
closely his critiques resembled my own in Confessions. He wrote
from an academic perspective while mine was a personal
narrative; yet many of our conclusions were identical. For
example, while I described how I had created falsely optimistic
economic forecasts (or developing countries, he wrote:
To make its (the IMF's) programs seem to work, to make the
numbers "add up," economic forecasts have to be adjusted.
Many users of these numbers do not realize that they are not
like ordinary forecasts; in these instances GDP forecasts are
not based on a sophisticated statistical model, or even on the
best estimates of those who know the economy well, but are
merely the numbers that have been negotiated as part of an
IMF program.15
I laid the open book across one knee and watched a cluster of
soldiers stroll past. Stiglitz sometimes referred to the "old
dictatorships
73
of national elites." His comments got me to thinking that the
Chinese occupation of Tibet was a whole lot more honest than the
usurpation of power by what Stiglitz defined as the "new
dictatorships of international finance." The Chinese, like the
Romans, Spanish, and British before them, had openly conquered
Tibet. Nothing subtle about it. Traditional empires might frame
their actions in noble terms—advancing civilization, stimulating
economic growth, lighting the way for progress—but there was
no question that they were colonizers intent on colonizing. The
corporatocracy, on the other hand, by using tools like the IMF and
the World Bank, backed up by the CIA and jackals when
necessary, was practicing a new form of conquest, imperialismthrough-subterfuge. When you conquered with armies, everyone
knew you were conquering. When you conquered with EHMs,
you could do it secretly. This raised a question I was beginning to
ask myself frequently about the toll such a concealment took on a
democracy that presupposes an informed electorate. If voters were
ignorant of their leaders' most important tools, could a nation
claim to be a democracy?
14
The Quiet Giant
On June 22, 2004, we flew out of Tibet, heading toward our
next stop, Nepal. I had to admit to a sense of relief. In an odd sort
of way, I felt that I was leaving one of those funny mirrors that
make you look very fat or very skinny. Chinese Tibet was a
distorted image of so much of the world where I had served as an
EHM—distorted, but nevertheless a reflection.
It was a crystal clear day. The pilot banked so close to Mount
Everest that I spied a funnel of snow swirling, like a white twister,
between two massive glacial ridges. It struck me as a fitting
symbol for our destination. The world's only Hindu kingdom, a
country dwarfed by two giants, India and China—both of which
coveted Nepal's water and its hydroelectric potentials—this was a
land spinning in turmoil. Maoist rebels launched a campaign to
establish a "People's Republic of Nepal" in 1996. The king
responded by declaring war on the Communists. Crown Prince
Dipendra shot and killed his father, King Birendra, and other
members of the royal family in June 2001. Although he also shot
himself, rumors abounded that he was a Chinese agent. Civil
strife erupted and the new king, Gyanendra, declared martial law,
dissolved the government, and deployed the military in another
round of attacks against the Maoists. By the time we arrived, an
estimated 10,000 people had died in the war ;ind 100,000 to
150,000 had been made homeless.
For our group, this would be a short visit, a sort of transition
back into the developed world. As our bus rushed through the
streets of Kathmandu, Sheena announced that she was gifting us
this last night with reservations at the Dwarika's Hotel, a
luxurious, lop-of-the-line, world-class hotel. The bus exploded
with cheers.
EMPIRE
Dwarika's did not disappoint. Straight out of Kipling, it was
elegant and picturesque; it was also a relic of colonial empires
that reminded me of places where I had stayed during my EHM
days.
Most of our group embarked on a final shopping trip to a
nearby market our guides considered safe. I remained at the hotel.
I needed time to make this transition and to reflect on the
experiences of Tibet. I sat in my room and typed out a few notes.
Then I went downstairs and wandered through the lush gardens.
They had an uncanny resemblance to the ones in the Hotel
Intercontinental Indonesia. I could not help reminiscing about the
geisha I had mistaken for an oil executive's wife. I sat down on a
wrought-iron settee and recalled that night when, disconsolate at
her absence, I walked across the Jakarta footbridge and ended up
in a restaurant with those two women. They said something that
impressed me profoundly. It had stuck with me all these years:
This is the biggest resource grab in history. The stakes are
huge. Should we be surprised that men are willing to risk
everything to control it? They'll cheat and steal. Build ships
and missiles, and send thousands—hundreds of thousands—of
young soldiers to die for oil.
Here we were, a quarter of a century later, the Vietnam War
was long over, and we now were fighting a new one in Iraq. Men
and women were dying for the same reason—the biggest resource
grab in history. The Emperor—the corporatocracy—was richer
than ever. And most Americans had no clue.
Asia, it seemed to me, was emblematic of this new approach
to empire building. The old methods had not brought the expected
outcomes in Vietnam, but the new methods had worked in
Indonesia and so many other countries. Yet even when policies
appeared to fail, business leaders were rewarded handsomely; the
Asian "IMI; crisis" caused destitution and death, but in the end the
corporatocracy emerged victorious, controlling the Indonesian
government
76THE QUIET GIANT
and most of the others that had been burned by IMF and
World Bank policies. Although Vietnam was a military failure,
American corporations profited from weapons sales, expanded
markets, and labor pools; they surfaced with innovative models
for sweatshop production and outsourcing. The corporatocracy
even found ways to take advantage of natural disasters.
My thoughts kept returning to China, the quiet giant lurking in
the background. Tibet highlighted the fact that although China
had employed the military approach, it had also observed the new
techniques of empire building closely; its EHMs and jackals had
learned from our mistakes.
Historically, China has eschewed the route taken by classical
colonial powers. It has not sent its armies to distant countries, but
has focused instead on regions it considered as part of its territory,
including Tibet and Taiwan. In this regard, China is imitating the
United States.
When Thomas Jefferson commissioned Lewis and Clark to
explore the lands west of the Mississippi, he sent a message that
the entire continent was subject to our jurisdiction—our
equivalent of Tibet and Taiwan. The Louisiana Purchase,
annexation of Texas, and acquisition of Alaska were justified in
this context. The idea of Manifest Destiny was later interpreted as
reaching beyond North America. It was applied to islands in the
Caribbean and Pacific and also as an excuse for invading Mexico,
Cuba, and Panama and then later for interfering in the politics of
other Latin American nations. Washington tried to avoid overt
actions that were outright violations of the founders' principles;
nevertheless, one administration after another bought into the
secret methods of empire building; each learned from the
successes and mistakes of its predecessors. Now, it seemed, China
was outsmarting Washington.
Long after I returned from that trip to Tibet and Nepal, I
discovered that I was not alone in making this comparison. On
September 18, 2006, the day before an important World Bank
meeting in Singapore,
EMPIRE
The New York Times published an article that carried the
headline "China Competes with West in Aid to Its Neighbors."
Times reporter Jane Perlez asserted that China, which is one of the
World Bank's biggest customers, "is quietly shaking up the aid
business in Asia, competing with the bank at its own game."
Using Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar, and the Philippines as
examples, the article stated that "China's loans are often more
attractive than the complicated loans from the West." Perlez listed
a number of reasons for this, including the fact that Beijing does
not attach environmental and social standards or penalties for
corruption as conditions to its loans. Significantly, the article
zeroed in on the policy that more than any other has allowed
EHMs to take jurisdiction over so many countries; Chinese
requirements, Ms. Perlez observed, "rarely include the extra
freight of expensive consultants, provisions that are common to
World Bank projects."16
Of the four regions discussed in this book, Asia's challenges
seem less threatening—and more manageable—to most
Americans. Our psyches are ingrained with images from the
Korean and Vietnam Wars; while these did not result in military
victories, they ended in ways that allowed our lives to go on as
usual, and they provided a tremendous impetus to the U.S.
economy. Our respect for Japanese engineering and ingenuity
encourages us to purchase cars, TVs, and computers from them.
Our stores overflow with merchandise produced in many Asian
nations. When we dial an 800 number we are likely to talk with
someone in Asia. Even the military threats—primarily from China
and North Korea—seem old-fashioned in a manner that is oddly
comforting because it recalls the Cold War, which we won. We
may fear atomic weapons but, unlike suicide bombers, we have
dealt successfully with nuclear pressures for more than half a
century. Perhaps most important of all, Asians have accepted our
capitalistic model, one that advocates top-down control, collusion
between big business and government, rampant materialism, and
the belief that nature's abundance exists to be exploited by the
relatively few.
78
Latin America is different. Just when we thought we had
tamed it, ridding ourselves of the Allendes, the Noriegas, and the
Sandinistas, when we anticipated the end of Castro, we discover
that a quiet revolution is sweeping the region. And it is aimed at
us. The Latins are defying the American Empire. In the process,
they are exposing our secret history.
As I pondered the lessons offered by these two regions—Asia
and Latin America—I was haunted by the words of the old
Tibetan man I met beside the glacier; in describing the invaders of
his land as "nomad killers" he had echoed a Guatemalan
industrialist. These two people lived on opposite sides of the
globe; one was impoverished, the other wealthy; one exploited
and the other the exploiter, and yet they understood something
vital about the world their children were inheriting. The
Guatemalan had bragged that the bodyguards who protected
him—and me—were "Maya killers."
PART 2:
LATIN AMERICA
15
Hired Guns in Guatemala
The elevator door opened. Three men stood inside. Unlike
Pepe and me, they were not wearing business suits. They were
dressed casually in slacks and sweaters. One wore a leather
jacket. What got ray attention, though, were the guns. All three
carried AK-47S.
"An unfortunate necessity in Guatemala these days," Pepe explained. He ushered me toward the waiting elevator. "At least for
those of us who are friends of the United States, friends of democracy. We need our Maya killers."
I had flown from Miami to Guatemala City the day before and
checked into the city's most luxurious hotel. It was one of those
few occasions when Stone and Webster Engineering Corporation
(SWEC) asked me to do something for them, other than refraining
from writing about EHM. Pepe Jaramillo (not his real name) had
signed a contract with SWEC agreeing to help the company
develop privately owned power plants in his country. He was one
of the most powerful members of a small group of rich elites who
have controlled the country since the time of the Spanish conquest. Pepe's family owned industrial parks, office buildings,
housing complexes, and huge agricultural estates that exported to
the United States. The important thing from SWEC's perspective
was t hat he had the political clout necessary to get things done in
Guatemala.
I had first visited Guatemala as an EHM in the mid-1970s. My
job was to convince the government to accept a loan for
improving its electric sector. Then, in the late 1980s, I was invited
to join the hoard of directors of a nonprofit organization that
helped Mayan communities organize microcredit banks and other
grassroots
EMPIRE
endeavors aimed at pulling themselves out of poverty. Over
the years, I had become very familiar with the tragic violence that
had torn this country apart during the latter half of the twentieth
century.
Guatemala had been the heart of the Mayan civilization that
flourished for roughly a thousand years. That civilization already
had entered a period of collapse that many anthropologists
attribute to its failure to cope with the environmental damage
caused by the growth of its spectacular urban centers, when the
conquistadors invaded in 1524. Soon Guatemala became the seat
of the Spanish military authority in Central America, a position
that lasted until the nineteenth century and resulted in frequent
clashes between Mayan and Spanish populations.
By the end of the 1800s, a Boston-based company, United
Fruit, had beaten the Spanish at their own game and established
itself as one of the most powerful forces in Central America. It
ruled supreme and essentially unchallenged until the early 1950s
when Jacobo Arbenz ran for president on a platform that echoed
the ideals of the American Revolution. He declared that
Guatemalans ought to benefit from the resources offered by their
land; foreign corporations would no longer be permitted to exploit
the country and her people. His election was hailed as a model of
the democratic process throughout the hemisphere. At the time,
less than 3 percent of Guatemalans owned 70 percent of the land.
As president, Arbenz implemented a comprehensive land reform
program that posed a direct threat to United Fruit's Guatemalan
operations. The company feared that if Arbenz succeeded he
would set an example others might follow throughout the
hemisphere, and perhaps the world.
United Fruit launched a major public relations campaign in the
United States; it convinced the American public and Congress
that Arbenz had turned Guatemala into a Soviet satellite and that
his land reform program was a Russian plot to destroy capitalism
in Latin America. In 1954, the CIA orchestrated a coup. American
84HIRED GUNS IN GUATEMALA
planes bombed the capital city; the democratically elected
president was overthrown and replaced by a brutal right-wing
military dictator, Col. Carlos Castillo Armas.
The new government immediately reversed the land reform
process, abolished taxes paid by the company, eliminated the
secret ballot, and jailed thousands of Castillo's critics. A civil war
erupted in 1960, pitting the antigovernment guerrilla group known
as the Guatemalan National Revolutionary Union against the
United States-supported army and right-wing death squads. The
violence intensified throughout the 1980s, resulting in the
slaughter of hundreds of thousands of civilians, mostly Mayas.
Many more were jailed and tortured.
In 1990 the army massacred civilians in the town of Santiago
Atitlan, located near the high-altitude Lake Atitlan, renowned as
one of the most beautiful spots in Central America. Although just
one of many massacres, this one made international headlines
because it happened in a place popular among foreign tourists.
According to eyewitness reports, it began when a group of Mayas
marched to the gates of the military base. One of their neighbors
had been abducted by the army and, fearing that he would join the
ranks of the thousands officially classified as "disappeared," they
demanded his release. The army opened fire on the crowd.
Although exact numbers are disputed, dozens of men, women,
and children were seriously wounded and killed.
My trip to visit Pepe Jaramillo came shortly afterward, in
1992. He wanted SWEC to partner with him and obtain World
Bank financing. I knew that the Mayas believe the earth is a living
spirit and that places where steam gushes from the land are
considered sacred. I suspected that any attempts to construct a
power plant over geothermal springs would result in violence.
Based on the United Fruit experience—as well as more recent
ones I was intimately familiar with in Iran, Chile, Indonesia,
Ecuador, Panama, Nigeria, and Iraq—I believed that if a U.S.
company like SWEC called for help in a place like Guatemala,
the CIA would show up. The violence would escalate. The
Pentagon might send in the marines. I already had enough blood
on my conscience; I was determined to do everything I could to
prevent more mayhem.
A car had picked me up at my hotel that morning and driven
me into the circular driveway of one of Guatemala City's more
impressive modern buildings. Two armed doormen ushered me
in. One escorted me on the elevator to the top floor. He explained
that the building was owned by Pepe's family and all eleven floors
were occupied by them: their commercial bank on the ground
floor, offices for various businesses on two to eight, and family
residences on nine, ten, and eleven. Pepe met me at the elevator
door. After coffee and a brief introductory conversation, he gave
me a quick tour of his building, except for floor nine, which he
said was reserved for the privacy of his widowed mother (I
suspected additional reasons). If the intent of the tour was to
impress SWEC's representative, it succeeded. Following a
meeting with him and several of his engineers on floor five to
familiarize me with the geothermal project, we lunched with his
mother, brother, and sister on eleven, then headed for the elevator
and a visit to the proposed site. We boarded the elevator with the
AK-47-bearing men.
The elevator door closed. The man in the leather jacket pushed
the bottom button. No one spoke as the elevator descended. I kept
thinking about the AK-47S. I realized they were there to protect
Pepe and me from the Mayas, the very people I worked with
through the nonprofit. I wondered what my Mayan friends would
think of me now.
The elevator stopped. When the door opened, I expected to see
the afternoon light through the portico where I had entered earlier.
Instead, I saw an immense concrete garage. It was well lighted in
the extreme and smelled of damp concrete.
Pepe's hand gripped my shoulder. "Stay here," he commanded
in a soft voice.
86
16
Obsessed with Anger
Two of the guards stepped in front of Pepe and me, blocking
the doorway, AK-47S aimed into the cavernous garage. The third,
the leather-jacketed one, dropped to a crouch and moved out, his
head and weapon swinging from side to side, scanning the area
before him. Our two guards also stepped outside, each taking up a
position next to the open elevator door.
I now had an unobstructed view of the garage. I was surprised
to see that there were only six cars. All were U.S. made, Chevys
and Fords. Five were black station wagons. The sixth was a red
pickup truck. They were, in every way, nondescript.
Leather Jacket flashed a light inside each car and then under it.
When he finished he once again scanned the entire garage. Apparently satisfied, he opened the door of one of the wagons, got
in, and started the engine. Then he slowly drove it up to where we
waited.
One of our two guards opened the wagon's back door. They
both climbed in and moved to the third seat, which faced
backward. I .eather Jacket jumped out, AK-47 at his side. Pepe
followed me into t he second seat. Leather Jacket closed our door.
He blew on a shrill whistle and then resumed his position behind
the wheel.
The wagon ascended a steep incline. As it approached the top,
a metal door rose up, exposing us to sunshine. Three men toting
AK-47s stood at attention outside. They saluted as we drove past.
The wagon stopped. One of the three opened the front door
opposite the driver, Leather Jacket, and climbed in. He spoke into
a walkie talkie. Moments later, two sedans, one white, the other
silver, pulled up to the curb in front of us. Tinted windows made
it impossible to see
EMPIRE
inside. The man next to our driver waved. The white car
headed out into the street. We followed it and the silver one fell in
behind us.
Pepe patted my knee and broke the silence. "Awful, isn't it, to
have to live this way?"
"Unbelievable. But your guys seem to know their business."
"They're the best money can buy, all trained at your School of
the Americas." He frowned. "Just last week, a car carrying my
sister was attacked by a bunch of Mayans. Thank God our
vehicles have bulletproof glass. That and the guards saved her
life."
"Was anyone hurt?" I asked.
He shrugged. "The guards say they wounded two of the bastards, but their friends carried them off. Our men are smart
enough not to chase them. That happened to a business associate
of mine. His guards chased the attackers—and ran right into a
trap. One was killed and one wounded." He looked through his
window at the wide boulevard we were traveling along. "Used to
be a nice city," he mused. "Most of the violence happened in the
countryside." He turned to me. "Not anymore. These damn
Mayans have gone berserk." He stared back at the world outside
his car, then looked at me again and chuckled. "If you're a guy
like me, who do you fear the most?"
"What do you mean?"
"Who's got the best chance of killing you?"
I remembered Panama's Torrijos and the rumors that one of
his security officers had handed him a tape recorder boobytrapped with explosives just before he boarded that fateful flight
on his Twin Otter. "Your guards."
"Of course." He relaxed back into his seat. "You got to find
the best and pay them very well. We have a large security force.
Before anyone makes it to our private household, like these guys .
. ." He motioned at the cars in front of and behind us. "They spend
years in that force—at one of our factories, banks, or haciendas.
They don't get near me or my family until they've proven
themselves."
"How do they do that?"
88OBSESSED WITH ANGER
"Prove themselves?" He nodded and smiled. "They have to put
their life on the line, shoot it out in a firefight, demonstrate they
got the balls and the loyalty."
For me, his words brought to mind what had happened in Iraq
that triggered the U.S. invasion a year earlier, in 1991. When I
mentioned this, Pepe nodded. "Tell me more."
"Our jackals tried to take out Saddam, but his security forces
were too good, loyal. Besides he had all those look-alike doubles.
Imagine if you're one of his guards and you're tempted to accept a
bribe. You know that if you shoot a double, you and your family
will die horrible, slow deaths. That's why Bush sent in the army."
"That's a good one," he chortled. "I'll have to get the word out
that we can arrange for slow deaths—in case any of my boys are
ever tempted."
We left the city and headed toward a majestic volcano. The
sky was a bright azure. It was only then that I realized that the
capital had been enveloped in a mist of smog. Beyond the city,
the day was brilliant. We passed a small lake and the car turned
onto a dirt road. Pepe explained that all the trees had been cut by
campesinos who burned them for their cooking fires and to heat
their homes. The hillsides were scarred with gullies caused by the
resulting erosion.
"You would think," he said, "they might have learned their
lesson. Their ancestors destroyed themselves by cutting the
forests and building pyramids. Now they do this. Stupid, hopeless
people."
I was tempted to point out that the urban pollution was much
more destructive in the long run, that the factories and cars he and
I depended on were the worst culprits, and that it was our policies
that forced the campesinos to burn their trees. But I figured that
he would just write me off as an "Indian lover," a radical
ecologist, and therefore someone who could not be trusted. I
stared out the window.
The barren landscape reminded me of the time I had come to
this country to talk with a Mayan shaman. The nonprofit
organization had sent me to ask the shaman to perform opening
ceremonies
EMPIRE
at an upcoming board meeting. I was accompanied by Lynne
Twist, a fund-raiser (and author of The Soul of Money). We
encountered a great deal of resistance as we tried to arrange
meetings; it became painfully obvious that the persecution
suffered by the Mayas at the hands of the government—which
was supported by Washington— was blocking our efforts.
Finally, Lynne and I found ourselves in the small adobe house
where a famous shaman lived. He was wearing blue jeans and a
traditional embroidered shirt; a red bandana was wrapped around
his head. His home carried the aroma of wood fires and herbs. It
was high up in mountains that, like the ones we were passing, had
been ravaged by erosion. He listened quietly while I outlined our
desire to involve him in our meeting, to enlist his help so we
could work more closely with his people. I spoke in Spanish to a
translator who repeated my words in the local Mayan dialect.
When I finished, the shaman launched into an angry speech.
He gestured passionately and shouted. "Why should I help you?"
he demanded. "Your people murdered mine for five hundred
years. Not just the Spanish during colonial times. Your
government has sent secret agents and uniformed troops here
throughout my lifetime, including right now. You attacked my
capital city and overthrew Arbenz, the one president who tried to
help us. You train Guatemalan soldiers to torture Mayas. Now
you ask me to help you?"
"These Mayans," Pepe said, as though he had read my
thoughts, "are obsessed with anger. They blame the rest of us for
all their troubles. We give them work, they complain that we
enslave them. When we don't hire them—my family imported
Haitians who work for pennies—they riot and try to murder us.
And it isn't just here. Similar things are happening throughout the
hemisphere. In the Andes, the Amazon, Mexico, Brazil, Ecuador,
Peru, Venezuela, Bolivia, Colombia. Name any country south of
the Rio Grande. You gringos don't get it because you killed off all
your Indians. We should've followed your example." He tapped
my knee for emphasis. "Mark my words, the challenge of the next
few decades will be
90OBSESSED WITH ANGER
to keep the indigenous people—the Indians—down. You can
talk all you want about democracy, but these countries are going
to need strong leaders to hold those Indians in their places. The
Mayans don't care a damn about democracy. Nor do the Quechua.
Or any of the others. Given the opportunity, they'd slaughter
every one of us."
I did not tell him about my experience with the Mayan shaman
who in the end agreed to work with us. The breakthrough came
when I told him that the only reason I could think of for him to
help us was so that together we could build a bridge between his
people and mine. "Many of us in the United States," I said, "share
your disgust for the ways our government treats your people. We
want to change." I opened a bag containing Incan stones
presented to me by Quechua shamans from Ecuador. "We're
trying to do similar things in other parts of Latin America." After
that, to my surprise, he switched to Spanish, which he spoke
fluently.
By the time Pepe's caravan arrived at the geothermal site, I
suppose I had already decided what I would recommend to
SWEC. This project was not just about using World Bank funds
to enrich the wealthy and leave the poor in deeper debt; it would
also rob the Mayas of their sacred rights. When the three vehicles
pulled to a stop, Pepe once again kept me inside while his men—
totaling twelve now—searched the area. Outside, great clouds of
steam bellowed from the earth.
As Pepe and I strolled around, he recited engineering statistics
about pounds of pressure, kilowatts, and construction costs. We
stood at the edge of a pool of bubbling water, inhaling sulfur
fumes; he pointed through the steam down the hill to a valley and
described the spa-resort his sister envisioned there.
I felt compelled to state the obvious. "The Mayans will
certainly fight you tooth and nail."
"Aha," he said. "You're wrong there. They may be stupid, but
they know me and my family . . ." His voice drifted off. He
grinned. "I'm certain we can come to terms with them. And it
won't cost
EMPIRE
much; just a pittance really. That's all they need. It's the reason
you must have partners like my family. Bring in a gringo
negotiating team, the party's over. We, on the other hand, can
handle them." His eyes met mine. "I think you know what I
mean."
I nodded and turned away. Of course I understood, and it
infuriated me. I walked to the other side of the pool. I picked up a
small stone. Throwing it into the bubbling water, I sent with it my
respects to the Mayan spirits or whatever force it was that created
such an amazing phenomenon.
Our return trip was so delayed by rush hour traffic that I
missed my flight. It did not phase Pepe; he called his pilots. They
picked me up at his building and drove me to his private jet. It
seemed terribly ironic that two pilots and thousands of dollars of
jet fuel would fly me all the way to Miami so I could squelch
Pepe's project. At first I felt guilty accepting his plane, then
exonerated; I figured the Mayan shaman and the geothermal
spirits would be amused—and grateful.
One statement Pepe made haunted me for years: "Mark my
words, the challenge of the next few decades will be to keep the
indigenous people—the Indians—down." Those words took on
new relevance as we approached and entered the third
millennium.
Beginning in 1998, seven countries in South America, over
300 million of the continent's 370 million population, had voted
for presidents who campaigned against foreign exploitation.
Despite the proclamations by our press and politicians, the votes
were not for communism, anarchy, or terrorism. They were for
self-determination. Through the democratic, electoral process, our
neighbors sent us a strong message: They do not seek our
altruism; they simply want our corporations to stop abusing them
and their lands.
Latin Americans are following in the footsteps of Paine,
Jefferson, Washington, and all the courageous men, women, and
children who stood up to the British empire in the 1770s. It is a
fascinating twist of history that, marching at the forefront of
today's revolution
92
against empire, are the indigenous people. While our
Founding Fathers based their new government on Iroquois
principles and our Continental Army used Indians as scouts and
soldiers, in the end our nation rewarded them with exclusion and
genocide. For many South American countries they are the
vanguard. A new generation of heroes is emerging. Although born
of pre-Columbian cultures, these leaders view their constituency
as the poor and disenfranchised, regardless of race, heritage, and
religion or whether they live in crowded slums or on remote
subsistence farms.
Nowhere is this more evident than in Bolivia.
As I followed the Bolivian presidential elections in 2005,1
wondered what Pepe was feeling. How did he react when an
indigenous larmer from the humblest of backgrounds—an
Aymara Indian— won with an overwhelming mandate? Evo
Morales's victory was the materialization of Pepe's nightmare.
Watching TV coverage of the postelection celebrations, I was
transported back to the time when I was offered one of the most
powerful jobs in that country. The way it happened is illustrative
of the corporatocracy's attitudes and actions.
17
Recruited as President of Bolivia Power
"Bolivia is emblematic of a land exploited by empires." Those
words, uttered by a teacher at my Peace Corps training camp in
Escondido, California, in 1968, stuck with me. The teacher had
lived in Bolivia; he continually impressed upon us the toll that
centuries of oppression had taken.
After I completed training, while serving as a volunteer in
Ecuador, I often thought about Bolivia. I was fascinated by this
landlocked country that on a map looks like the hole in a donut
comprised of Peru, Chile, Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil.
During my Peace Corps tour, I visited all but one of Bolivia's
neighbors, avoiding Paraguay as a personal protest against its
ruler, Gen. Alfredo Stroess-ner, and his policy of sheltering Nazi
SS officers. I also studiously skirted Bolivia because young North
Americans we referred to as "on the Gringo Trail" who
sometimes stayed with me described it as more brutal toward its
Indians than Ecuador.
At that time it seemed impossible that any place could surpass
Ecuador in this category. The indigenous people were considered
by the country's wealthy elites as subhuman. Like African
Americans in the United States a few decades earlier, they lacked
civil rights. Rumors abounded about a "sport" played by rich
young men. They would catch an Indian doing something
illegal—like picking hacienda corn so his starving family could
survive—order him to run, and then shoot him down. Oil
company mercenaries in the Amazon carried out similar
executions, although they justified them as fighting terrorists, not
sport. Yet despite the oppression in Ecuador, Bolivia was
apparently worse.
This point was brought home by the fact that Che Guevara, the
94RECRUITED AS PRESIDENT OF BOLIVIA
POWER
Argentine physician who decided to fight oppression, selected
Bolivia as his battlefront. The ruling class solicited Washington's
aid. Che was relegated to a classification worse than subhuman or
terrorist; because he was supported by Cuba, he was categorized
as a communist fanatic. Washington sent one of its most skilled
jackals to hunt him down. CIA agent Felix Rodriguez captured
Che in the jungle near La Higuera, Bolivia, in October 1967.
After hours of interrogation, Rodriguez, under pressure from the
Bolivians, ordered the Bolivian army to execute Che.17 After that,
the fist of the corporatocracy tightened around Bolivia. The donut
squeezed the hole.
Before finally traveling to Bolivia as an EHM in the mid1970s, I did my research. I discovered that repression there far
exceeded .mything I had expected, that my Peace Corps teacher
and those gringo pilgrims had barely scratched the surface. The
country had been plagued by violence since the beginnings of
recorded history, the victim of one empire or ruthless despot after
another.
Bolivia's indigenous cultures were conquered by the Incas in
the thirteenth century. Spanish conquistadors arrived in the 1530s,
sub-ingated the Incas, slaughtering thousands in cold blood, and
ruled with an iron fist until 1825. In a series of wars throughout
the 1X79-1935 period, Bolivia lost its Pacific coast to Chile, its
oil-rich Chaco region to Paraguay, and its rubber-growing jungles
to Brazil. I Hiring the 1950s, a reformist government under Victor
Paz Estensoro initiated programs to improve conditions for the
Indian majority and nationalized the oppressive tin mines. The
international business community was outraged; the Estenssoro
administration was overthrown by a military junta in 1964. Not
surprisingly, the CIA was implicated. Coups and countercoups
plagued the nation into the seventies.
Even the geography is oppressive. The country is divided by
twoparallel and exceedingly rugged Andean mountain ranges into
three distinct regions: the arid, inhospitable high-altitude plateau,
known as the Altiplano; semitropical valleys in the west; and
lowlands and vast rainforests in the east.
EMPIRE
The majority of Bolivia's nine million inhabitants are Indians
who traditionally coax a living from subsistence farms clinging to
windswept Andean slopes. Reflecting this ethnic diversity,
Bolivia has three official languages: Quechua, Aymara, and
Spanish. Although endowed with abundant natural resources—
silver, tin, zinc, oil, hydroelectric power, and the second largest
natural gas reserves in South America (after Venezuela)—Bolivia
is one of the hemisphere's poorest countries.
It was also one of the first to implement the IMF's package of
Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs). I have to take some of
the responsibility for that.
By the time I arrived in Bolivia in the middle of the 1970s,
fear inspired by Che's legacy had convinced a coalition formed
between the economic elite and the military to brutalize the
country's indigenous community. My job was to explore ways we
EHMs might induce that coalition to integrate more extensively
with the corporatocracy. During meetings with a broad spectrum
of Bolivians, I formulated ideas that were similar to those that
later gelled into the SAPs accepted by many countries in the
1980s and 1990s. Like Indonesia's Suharto, Bolivia's rulers were
predisposed to adopting programs that sold their country's
resources to foreigners. They had a long history of yielding to and
prospering from foreign mining companies; they had incurred
excessive debts; and, feeling vulnerable to neighboring countries,
their traditional enemies, as well as to their own indigenous
populations, they desired to secure Washington's promises of
protection, and grow rich in the process. They would follow
Suharto's example by investing their fortunes in the United States
and Europe, thus insulating themselves against future economic
crises in Bolivia.
At those initial meetings in the 1970s, I concluded that Bolivia
was ripe for privatization. La Paz's businessmen and politicians
were eager to expand the model initiated by the mining
companies. Although this amounted to a sellout of their nation's
sovereignty, it relieved them from the burden of raising funds
through taxation,
96RECRUITED AS PRESIDENT OF BOLIVIA
POWER
capital markets, and their own bank accounts to develop water,
sewage, and electrical facilities, transportation and
communications networks, and even educational and penal
systems. With my help, they also understood that they would
receive lucrative subcontracting jobs and their sons and daughters
would be rewarded with all-cxpense-paid educations in the States,
along with internships at our most prestigious engineering and
construction companies. They enthusiastically approved tax
incentives for foreign investors and agreed to drop trade barriers
against U.S. imports, while accepting ones we imposed on
Bolivian products. In essence, Bolivia's economic elite-military
coalition seemed ready to buy into what constituted a new form of
colonialism, so long as it was couched in IMF language, such as
"good governance," "sound economics," and "structural
adjustments."
After the government passed legislation to permit joint
ventures, attract foreign capital, and remove restrictions on
currency conversions, it did not take long to privatize Bolivia's
five largest state-held companies. Furthermore, the government
announced plans in 1990 to sell as many as 150 state-owned
companies to foreign investors. And, in an interesting turn of
fate—symbolic of the revolving door that propels so many U.S.
government decision makers into lucrative corporate positions—I
was offered the presidency of Bolivia's most powerful utility
company.
In 1990, Leucadia National Corporation, a U.S. company, conLuted me and asked if I would be interested in becoming
president of their wholly owned subsidiary, Bolivia Power
Company (Compania Boliviana de Energia Electrica—COBEE in
Spanish). Leucadia had earned a reputation for buying troubled
companies and turning them into profit centers. (Leucadia would
become famous in 2004 when it sought antitrust clearance to buy
more than 50 percent of the stock in MCI Inc., the nation's
number-two long-distance carrier.) Corporate representatives
informed me that I appeared uniquely qualified to run COBEE. In
addition to the fact that I had helped structure Bolivia's SAPs, I
also: 1) was CEO of my own successful independent
EMPIRE
power company in the United States (a company I had created
after leaving the EHM ranks that benefited greatly from favors
owed me for my EHM work);18 2) spoke Spanish and was
familiar with Latin American cultures; and 3) as a former EHM,
was in an ideal position to secure World Bank and InterAmerican
Development Bank loans needed to expand COBEE's system.
Following interviews on the East Coast, Leucadia flew my
wife, Winifred, seven-year-old daughter, Jessica, and me to the
Salt Lake City mansion where the company's CEO, Ian
Cumming, and his wife spent much of their time. After
introductory meetings with several executives, we joined the
Cummings in their formal dinning room for a gourmet five-course
meal served up by the family's chef and staff. Ian and I then
retired to his office for a private conversation. At one point an
aide interrupted us and apologetically explained that he had
received a fax from La Paz, that the Spanish translator had left for
a doctor's appointment, and he hoped I might be able to help. As I
read the message aloud in English, I could not help suspecting
that my language abilities were being tested.
Apparently I passed that and other tests. Soon after the Salt
Lake City visit, Leucadia arranged for the three of us to travel to
Bolivia.
98
18
Maximizing Profits in La Paz
We landed at El Alto, one of the highest commercial airports
in the world, located on a plateau at nearly thirteen thousand feet
above sea level. Exiting customs, we were met by COBEE's
about-to-retire president and his wife. They and the rest of the
company's top executives treated us like royalty during our stay.
They escorted us to colorful local markets, museums, colonial
churches, the exclusive Americanized school Jessica would
attend, the elite country club that was eager to welcome us as
members, and scenic natural points of interest in the mountains
surrounding La Paz, including the bizarrely eroded sandstone
formations at the Valley of the Moon. They guided us through
power plants and substations, and along proposed transmission
line rights-of-way.
One cold, rainy afternoon, a company executive announced
that he would show us "the heart and soul of our operation." I
expected a state-of-the-art engineering marvel. Instead his
chauffeur drove us through the freezing drizzle to a commercial
bank in the center of La Paz.
A ragged line of Indians stretched down the side of the bank
building and around the block. They huddled together against the
soaking rain, many holding open newspapers above their heads.
They were dressed in traditional clothes, woolen pants, skirts, and
ponchos. I lowered the car window a crack and was greeted by a
blast of cold air and the smell of wet wool and unwashed bodies.
Like remnants of the days when conquistadors had lined them up
to work the tin mines, they were silent, simply standing there,
staring and occasionally taking a step forward, toward the
massive doors of the bank where a cluster of armed guards
watched over them. Dozens of ragged
EMPIRE
children were scattered along the line; many of the women
carried babies wrapped in shawls that hung, dripping water, from
their shoulders. "They've come to pay their electric bills," the
executive explained.
"How barbaric," Winifred muttered.
"On the contrary," the executive corrected. "These are the
lucky ones. Unlike their rural kin, they're privileged, connected to
the grid. They've got electricity."
As we drove back toward the office, the executive turned from
his seat next to the chauffeur and explained'that COBEE sent bags
of money to the States through the U.S. embassy on a regular
basis—money the Aymara and Quechua had stood in line to deliver. "This company's a cash cow for Leucadia," he added
gleefully.
I would later learn that although their electric usage might be
limited to a single lightbulb, once a month they made a
pilgrimage to the bank; lacking checking accounts or credit cards,
they stood patiently in line and paid in cash.
That night, back in the seclusion of our hotel room, Winifred
asked why the embassy should serve as a courier service for a private corporation. I had no answer, except for the obvious—that
U.S. diplomatic missions around the world exist primarily to
benefit the corporatocracy. We also wondered why the executive
had gone out of his way to show us that line. "He seemed so
proud of it," Winifred said. "What a warped sense of finance."
The next morning we were briefed on the Zongo River project.
It sounded to me like the true heart and soul of COBEE. Famous
among Latin American power industry executives, it consists of a
series of hydroelectric sites that begin near the top of the Andes
and descend down a deep gorge into a tropical valley—a model of
efficiency and good environmental stewardship. Several engineers
assured us that seeing it firsthand was well worth the grueling
trip. One shook his head sadly. "It'll never happen again," he
moaned. "We all love Zongo because it's a beautiful example of
how things can be done. But no modern lender, least of all the
World Bank, invests money in such
100MAXIMIZING PROFITS IN LA PAZ
small, exquisitely engineered projects. If they had it to do over
again, they'd insist we build a huge dam and flood the entire
valley."
COBEE's president and his wife offered to take us to the
Zongo River. They picked us up at our hotel before dawn one
morning in their four-wheel-drive station wagon. We drove out of
the city and headed up to the Altiplano. A thin blanket of snow
covered this barren plateau that resembles an arid version of the
Arctic tundra. Suddenly, morning arrived and we witnessed a
spectacular sunrise along the massive Cordillera Real. Nicknamed
"The Himalayas of the Americas," this Andean range includes
twenty-two ice-clad peaks that are nineteen thousand feet or
higher.
Several hours later, as we crossed a mountain pass at about
seventeen thousand feet, Jessica had the opportunity to see her
first glacier. Alpacas roamed in the pasture separating us from the
mammoth ice sheet. We pulled to a stop. When Jessica raced
across the road to get a closer look, her lips blackened from lack
of oxygen. She sank to her knees and vomited violently. Winifred
and I hustled her back into the station wagon and we hurried
down to lower altitudes, arriving in mid-afternoon at the first of
the hydroelectric sites.
A small dam across the glacier-melt Zongo River created a retaining pond. From there the water flowed along canals cut deep
into the mountainside, through tunnels, into a metal penstock, and
eventually to a powerhouse where electricity was produced. This
process was repeated several times, a system that was ingeniously
designed to maximize the energy-producing potential of the river
while maintaining the integrity of the natural landscape. As we
wound through the gorge, surrounded on all sides by perpendicular cliffs, a fully recovered Jessica made a comment that
verbalized my sentiments. "I'm glad they didn't build a big dam
and flood this whole valley," she said. "It's so lovely."
Eventually we pulled up to a quaint cottage we were told
would be our private retreat if I became president. After settling
in, Winifred, |essica, and I hiked to a nearby waterfall. At eight
thousand feet, WC felt positively energized after the thin air of La
Paz and the
EMPIRE
mountain pass. We scaled a cliff next to the waterfall.
Through the lush foliage we watched the sun setting behind the
mountains across the narrow valley. Then we climbed down and
joined our hosts back at the cottage. The caretaker served baked
lasagna that tasted as though it might have arrived by courier from
Rome.
That evening, as Jessica slept, we four adults chatted over
cocktails. It was obvious that COBEE's president and his wife had
enjoyed their Bolivian tour. It was also apparent that they were
now eager for me to assume his position so they could return
home. They repeated selling points we had heard before: We
would live in a mansion; travel through the streets of La Paz in
our own chauffer-driven car; be protected by armed guards; be
pampered by private chefs, maids, and gardeners; and enjoy a
deep-pocket expense account for entertaining Bolivia's
aristocracy. They pointed out that I would be the second most
powerful person in Bolivia, after the country's president;
whenever there was a coup, I would be the most powerful since I
would control the flow of electricity to both the presidential
palace and the military bases. The CIA would look to me to
support their favored party.
As we lay in bed, Winifred praised the hydroelectric project.
"I've never seen anything to compare," she said, adding, "I
wonder if you could use it as the starting point for a sort of utility
revolution in Latin America. Get rid of that horrid line those
Indians have to stand in to pay their bills, make electricity
available at low prices to rural communities, develop more
projects like the one we saw today, instead of using World Bank
loans to build big power plants, and commit the company to
environmental stewardship."
I listened carefully to what she said. The next day, as we drove
back to La Paz, and during the remainder of our stay, I mulled
over this idea. On several occasions, I discussed it with COBEE's
executives and engineers. Many of them came from Argentina,
Chile, and Paraguay, countries with long histories of military
dictatorships that served at the pleasure of the corporatocracy. I
should not have been surprised by their skepticism. Their
comments echoed those of a Peruvian engineer who had worked
at COBEE for more
102MAXIMIZING PROFITS IN LA PAZ
than a decade. "Leucadia expects its sacks of dough," he
observed flatly.
The more I thought about this, the angrier I grew. Latin
America had become a symbol of U.S. domination. Guatemala
under Arbenz, Ikazil under Goulart, Bolivia under Estenssoro,
Chile under Allende, Ecuador under Roldos, Panama under
Torrijos, and every other country in the hemisphere that was
blessed with resources that our corporations coveted, and that had
enjoyed leaders who were determined to use national resources
for the benefit of their own people, had gone the same route.
Every one of them had seen those leaders thrown out in coups or
assassinated and replaced by governments that were puppets of
Washington. I had played their game for ten years as an EHM.
Another decade had passed since I had left those ranks. Yet I was
still haunted by guilt. And anger. I had vacillated, detoured away
from the principles I had been raised to respect, in my eagerness
to serve the corporatocracy and gratify my own appetites. My
personal prostitution infuriated me, as did the suspicion that any
efforts on my part now to change a company such as COBEE
would likely be thwarted. Nevertheless, I made a commitment to
try.
When we returned to the United States, I called the Leucadia
executive in charge of recruiting me. I informed him that I would
consider accepting the job only if they allowed me to turn
COBEE into a model for social and environmental responsibility.
I explained that I was deeply impressed by the Zongo River
hydroelectric project and that the company was uniquely
positioned to be an agent of change, given that it had the
opportunity to provide electricity to some of the poorest
populations in the hemisphere.
There was a long pause. He informed me that he would check
with Ian Cumming. "However," he said, "don't expect much. Our
execu-t ives answer to our stockholders; a president of COBEE
will be expected io maximize profits." Another pause. "Do you
want to reconsider?"
His words strengthened my resolve. "Absolutely not."
I never heard from them again.
103
19
Changing the Dream
The longer I thought about the exploitation of Bolivia by
foreign organizations and the role I had played in it as an EHM,
the angrier and more depressed I grew. I considered flying back to
La Paz or to Colombia or to one of the other Spanish-speaking
countries and joining a resistance movement. It struck me that it
was what Tom Paine would have done. Then I realized that rather
than use a gun he would have taken up a pen. I asked myself how
I could be most effective.
The answer began to materialize during one of my trips with
the nonprofit organization that worked in Guatemala. Talking
with a Mayan elder, I decided that I needed to return to Ecuador's
Shuar territory, where I had lived as a Peace Corps volunteer
more than two decades earlier. I was, I see now, extremely
confused, torn between old loyalties to my EHM colleagues, a
guilty conscience, a desire to expose the wrong I had done, and an
addiction to that vice that so pervades our society, materialism.
Someplace in my subconscious lurked the idea that the Shuar
could help straighten me out.
A friend and the publisher of my books on indigenous
cultures, Ehud Sperling, and I took an American Airlines flight to
Quito, Ecuador, and a smaller plane down the Andes to Cuenca.
We spent a couple of nights in that colonial city high in the
mountains where I had lived following my tour in the rainforest.
Then we rented a jeep and driver, left very early in the morning,
and wound our way along treacherous mountain roads toward the
jungle town of Macas.
The trip was spectacular; descending from the top of the
Andes through an endless series of switchbacks, it was the old
potholed road I remembered from two decades earlier, sheer cliffs
rising on
104CHANGING THE DREAM
one side and a deep gorge of cascading water on the other. A
few rickety trucks coming up out of the jungle forced us to pull
over precariously close either to the rock wall or the drop-off.
Otherwise, we had the place to ourselves. It was truly another
world, far removed from our lives in the States. I wondered how I
had ever managed to make the transition from this to EHM. The
simple answer was that back then, a very young and frustrated
man who had grown up in rural New Hampshire, I had craved the
excitement and money that the profession offered. Like a fish
seduced by a shiny lure flashing through the water, I had snatched
it.
Around noon our jeep drove into a small community where
the road had previously ended; now it continued on, rougher and
muddier, soaked by rains that swept up from the Amazon basin,
toward the town of Macas. I began to tell Ehud how I had felt
when I first visited Macas in 1969. It got us to talking about the
role our country has played in world history.
The United States exemplified democracy and justice for
about two hundred years. Our Declaration of Independence and
Constitution inspired freedom movements on every continent. We
led efforts to create global institutions that reflected our ideals.
During the twentieth century, our leadership in movements
promoting democracy and justice increased; we were instrumental
in establishing the Permanent Court of International Justice in the
Hague, the Covenant of the League of Nations, the Charter of the
United Nations, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and
many U.N. conventions.
Since the end of World War II, however, our position as leader
has eroded, the model we presented to the world undermined by a
t orporatocracy hell-bent on empire building. While a Peace
Corps volunteer, I was aware that Ecuadorian citizens, as well as
those in neighboring nations, were outraged by our brutality and
baffled by our overt contradictions in policy. We claimed to
defend democracy in places like Vietnam; at the same time, we
ousted and assassinated democratically elected presidents. High
school students
EMPIRE
throughout Latin America understood that the United States
had overthrown Chile's Allende, Iran's Mossadegh, Guatemala's
Ar-benz, Brazil's Goulart, and Iraq's Qasim—even if our own
students were unaware of such things. Washington's policies
transmitted a confusing message to the world. Our actions
undercut our most hallowed ideals.
One way the corporatocracy exerted control was by
empowering autocratic governments in Latin America during the
1970s. These governments experimented with economic policies
that benefited U.S. investors and international corporations, and
generally ended in failure for local economies—recessions,
inflation, unemployment, and negative economic growth. Despite
mounting opposition, Washington praised the corrupt leaders who
were bankrupting their nations while amassing personal fortunes.
To make matters worse, the United States supported right-wing
dictators and their death squads in Guatemala, El Salvador, and
Nicaragua.
A wave of democratic reforms swept the continent in the
1980s. Newly elected governments turned to the "experts" at the
IMF and the World Bank for solutions to their problems.
Persuaded to adopt SAPs, they implemented unpopular measures
ranging from privatization of their utilities to cuts in social
services. They accepted outrageously large loans that were used
to develop infrastructure projects that all too often served only the
upper classes while leaving the country burdened with debt.
The results were disastrous. Economic indicators tumbled to
new depths. Millions of people once hailed as members of the
middle class lost their jobs and joined the ranks of the impover-
ished. As citizens watched their pensions, health care, and
educational institutions decline, they also noticed that their
politicians were buying up Florida real estate rather than investing
in local businesses. The communist movements of the 1950s and
1960s never took hold, except in Castro's Cuba; however, a new
wave of resentment against the corporatocracy and its corrupt
Latin collaborators swept the continent.
Then, less than a year before Ehud and I headed to Ecuador,
the first Bush administration made a decision that had a lasting
negative impact on United States-Latin American relations. The
president ordered the armed forces to invade Panama. It was an
unprovoked, unilateral attack to unseat a government, ostensibly
because it refused to renege on the Panama Canal Treaty. The
invasion killed more than two thousand innocent civilians and
sent waves of fear across every country south of the Rio Grande.
The fear soon turned to anger.1?
I mulled these things over and discussed them with Ehud on
that drive to Macas. I asked him if he thought there could be any
alternative to the corruption that plagued the continent.
"Of course there is," he assured me. "Critical mass. That's all
you need." He asked how I had journeyed to Macas in those days,
given that the road had not gone that far.
"You could slosh through the jungle for weeks. Or you could
take a 'stopwatch flight' on an old World War II Army-surplus
DC-3. That flight seemed almost suicidal, but it's what I did."
"Stopwatch flight?"
"Those planes couldn't make it over the top of the Andes; they
had to follow the river valleys. No radar. The pilot never knew
when clouds would sock him in, so as soon as he left the ground,
he clicked on a stopwatch. After thirty seconds he took a tendegree turn to the right, after another forty-five seconds a fifteendegree bank to the left. .. Pretty scary. Lost a lot of planes in those
days. But it was better—and safer—than trekking through the
jungle."
"So they built the road." He paused. "Why?" His arched
eyebrows gave me the clue.
"Critical mass?"
"Exactly."
People had demanded change. When the clamoring reached a
certain level, it happened. In this case, that change had been on
the side of commercial development opening up the Amazon basin. I knew that the critical mass had been heavily influenced by
EMPIRE
oil companies. Entering Macas, I saw that the road had transformed a sleepy jungle outpost into a bustling boomtown. Yet I
could speculate that as more and more of us become aware of the
threats to our future, the critical mass may shift to projects that
emphasize peace and sustainability.
We checked into a hotel that had a couple of items I had never
seen before in this part of the world: a flush toilet and shower.
The latter greatly amused Ehud because of the electrical outlet
next to the faucet.
"For electric shavers," I assured him.
"To execute yourself," he replied.
The next morning we boarded a small plane. Ehud asked the
pilot about the stopwatch. "My uncle used one." The pilot
grinned. "But I got radar."
The plane deposited us on a mud runway deep in the forest. A
cluster of Shuar men were assembled at the edge of the clearing.
They looked pretty much as I remembered them—muscular, buff,
laughing, happy people, except now they wore old T-shirts and
Da-cron shorts the missionaries insisted they use to combat the
sin of nudity.
As they unloaded supplies that had arrived with us, an old man
approached me. When I announced my interest in helping his people save their jungle from destruction he reminded me that my
culture, not his, was causing the problems.
"The world is as you dream it," he told me. "Your people
dreamed of huge factories, tall buildings, as many cars as there
are raindrops in this river. Now you begin to see that your dream
is a nightmare."
I asked what I could do to help.
"That's simple," he replied. "All you have to do is change the
dream .. . You need only plant a different seed, teach your
children to dream new dreams."
Over the next few days, we heard similar messages from other
members of the community. Both Ehud and I were impressed
with
the wisdom of these people and their determination to protect
their environment and culture. After I returned to the United
States, I set in motion procedures for creating an organization
dedicated to altering the way we in industrialized countries see
the earth and our relationship to it. I did not realize it at the time,
but I was endeavoring to reverse the process I had promoted as an
EHM.
Eventually we named the nonprofit corporation Dream
Change, in recognition of the message delivered to me that day in
Shuar territory. Through it, we organized trips and workshops.
We took people to live with indigenous teachers and we brought
those teachers to the United States. We produced books, tapes,
CDs, and films aimed at bridging the gaps between these two
worlds. The Pa-chamama Alliance, another nonprofit, was formed
as a result of one of our trips. It has raised millions of dollars to
help indigenous communities, much of it used to finance legal
battles against oil companies.
Thanks to my experience with COBEE, I had launched myself
on a new career. Throughout the 1990s and into the early years of
the new millennium, I traveled frequently to Latin America. I
spent most of the time there with indigenous people in the
Amazon and the Andes. I was deeply impressed by their
commitment to environmental stewardship and a spirituality that
surpassed anything I witnessed among the world's major
religions. These people appeared determined to make the world a
better place.
As a Pachamama Alliance board member I also met with lawyers, politicians, and oil company employees. It was over dinner
with such a group one night in Quito that I first learned about
Venezuela's Hugo Chavez. The oil company representatives
despised this fiery military officer who founded the
anticorporatocracy Fifth Republic Movement, but the politicians
had to admire his charisma. My indigenous friends were
encouraged that his ancestors were Indian and African as well as
Spanish, that he continually lambasted the wealthy, and promised
to help the poor to better lives.
109
20
Venezuela's Chavez
Chavez's rise to fame began in February 1992, when, as a
lieutenant colonel in the Venezuelan army, he led a coup against
Carlos Andres Perez. The president, whose name had become
synonymous with corruption, angered Chavez and his followers
because of his willingness to sell his country to the World Bank,
the IMF, and foreign corporations. Largely as a result of Caracas's
collaboration with the corporatocracy, Venezuelan per capita
income had plummeted by more than 40 percent and what had
previously been the largest middle class in Latin America sank
into the ranks of the impoverished.
Chavez's coup failed, but it set the stage for his future political
career. After he was captured, he was allowed to appear on
national television to persuade his troops to cease hostilities. He
defiantly declared to his nation that he had failed "por ahora"—
for now. His courage catapulted him to national fame. He served
two years in Yare prison; during that time, Perez was impeached.
Chavez emerged with a reputation for boldness, integrity, a
commitment to helping the poor, and a determination to smash the
shackles of foreign exploitation that had enslaved his country and
his continent for so many centuries.
In 1998 Hugo Chavez was elected president of Venezuela with
an impressive 56 percent of the vote. Once in office, he did not
bow to corruption like so many before him. Instead he honored
men like Guatemala's Arbenz, Chile's Allende, Panama's Torrijos,
and Ecuador's Roldos. They had all been assassinated or
overthrown by the CIA. Now, he said, he would follow in their
footsteps, but with his own vision and charismatic personality,
and the staying power
110VENEZUELA'S CHAVEZ
endowed on the leader of a country overflowing with oil. His
victory and his continued defiance of Washington and the oil
companies inspired millions of Latin Americans.
Chavez kept his commitments to the poor—urban and rural.
Instead of re-injecting profits into the oil industry, he invested
them in projects aimed at combating illiteracy, malnutrition,
diseases, and other social ills. Rather than declaring huge
dividends for investors, he helped Argentina's embattled President
Kirchner buy down that nation's IMF debts of more than $10
billion and he sold discounted oil to those who could not afford to
pay the going price— including communities in the United States.
He earmarked a portion of his oil revenues for Cuba so it could
send medical doctors to impoverished areas around the continent.
He forged laws that consolidated the rights of indigenous
people—including language and land ownership rights—and
fought for the establishment of Afro-Venezuelan curricula in
public schools.
The corporatocracy saw Chavez as a grave threat. Not only did
he defy oil and other international companies, but also he was
turning into a leader others might try to emulate. From the Bush
administration's perspective, two intransigent heads of state,
Chavez and Hussein, had evolved into nightmares that needed to
end. In Iraq, subtle efforts—both the EHMs' and the jackals'—had
failed, and now preparations were underway for the ultimate
solution: invasion. In Venezuela, the EHMs had been replaced by
jackals, and Washington hoped that they could solve the problem.
Using tactics perfected in Iran, Chile, and Colombia, jackals
sent thousands of people into the streets of Caracas on April 11,
2002, marching toward the headquarters of Venezuela's stateowned oil company and on to Miraflores, the presidential palace.
There they met pro-Chavez demonstrators who accused their
organizers of being pawns of the U.S. CIA. Then suddenly and
unexpectedly, the armed forces announced that Chavez had
resigned as president and was being held at a military base.
Washington celebrated, but the jubilation was short-lived.
Soldiers
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loyal to Chavez called for a massive countercoup. Poor people
poured into the streets, and on April 13, Chavez resumed his
presidency.
Official Venezuelan investigations concluded that the coup
was sponsored by the U.S. government. The White House
practically admitted to culpability; the Los Angeles Times
reported: "Bush Administration officials acknowledged Tuesday
that they had discussed the removal of Venezuelan President
Hugo Chavez for months with military and civilian leaders from
Venezuela."20
Ironically, the 2003 invasion of Iraq was a boon to Chavez. It
sent oil prices skyrocketing. Venezuela's coffers filled. Suddenly
drilling for the heavy crude oils of the country's Orinoco region
became feasible. Chavez announced that when the price of oil
reached fifty dollars a barrel, Venezuela—with its abundance of
heavy crude— surpassed the entire Middle East as the world's
number-one repository of petroleum. His analysis, he said, was
based on U.S. Department of Energy projections.
The rest of Latin America watched closely to see how the
Bush administration would deal with Chavez after the failed coup
attempt against him. What they witnessed was a cowed U.S.
president. The White House realized that it had to tread carefully.
Venezuela was our second-largest supplier of petroleum and
petroleum products (fourth-largest supplier of crude). Its oil fields
were much closer than those of the Middle East. Through its
ownership of Citgo, Venezuela impacted many American
workers, drivers, and a multitude of corporations that sell to or
buy from Citgo. In addition, Caracas had been our ally in
breaking the OPEC oil embargos of the 1970s. The Bush
administration's options for military intervention were limited by
the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the Israeli-Palestinian debacle,
the growing unpopularity of the royal family in Saudi Arabia,
political problems in Kuwait, and a militarized Iran.
Luiz Inacio "Lula" da Silva's 2002 landslide victory in Brazil
further bolstered nationalistic movements. A founder of the
progressive Workers' Party in 1980, Lula was a politician with a
long history of advocating social reform, demanding that Brazil
dedicate its
112
natural resources to helping the poor, and insisting on audits
for Brazilian debts to the IMF that he claimed were illegal. In
winning the election with more than 60 percent of the vote, Lula
joined Chavez as one of the continent's new wave of living
legends. Word spread to the most remote villages at the top of the
Andes and deep into the rainforests that those previously
considered as disenfranchised were coming into power.
Latin Americans took heart. For the first time in recent
history, they saw the opportunity to slip out from under the U.S.
yoke of domination.
Two countries were especially influenced by the successes of
Chavez and Lula. They too had large indigenous populations and
they possessed oil and gas resources coveted by the
corporatocracy. They were also countries where I had strong and
very personal connections: Ecuador and Bolivia.
21
Ecuador: Betrayed by a President
In Confessions of an Economic Hit Man I described my
relationship with Jaime Roldos Aguilera, the university professor
and attorney who in 1979 became Ecuador's first democratically
elected president after a long line of cor poratocracy-supported
dictators. As soon as he took office, Roldos set about honoring his
campaign promises to rein in the oil companies and apply his
country's natural resources to benefit its poor people. At that time
I feared that if he did not comply with the wishes of the EHMs, he
would be targeted by the jackals. My fears materialized. On May
24, 1981, Jaime Roldos died in an airplane crash. Latin
newspapers plastered their front pages with stories under
headlines like CIA ASSASSINATION!
Now, a decade later, it appeared that all the circumstances in
the country were different but the politics had not changed.
Following the trip with Ehud to the Shuar and the formation of
Dream Change and the Pachamama Alliance, I became
increasingly aware of the turmoil that in the 1990s brewed
beneath the surface. The jackals had taken Roldos out, but the
United States did nothing to address the real problem. The gap
between rich and poor, environmental destruction, and neglect of
education, health, and other social services were exacerbated
when Ecuador rose to become the region's number-two petroleum
exporter to the United States (after Venezuela). The Indian
populations were most severely impacted. The government and
oil companies tried to force them off their lands. If they refused to
leave, all too often they had to watch as their trees were replaced
with oil derricks and their rivers flooded with pollution.
The pressure took many forms. One of them was clearly
elucidated
114ECUADOR: BETRAYED BY A PRESIDENT
on an afternoon when I was visiting the Amazon. Tunduam, a
young Shuar man, informed me that he was considering leaving
his community. "I'm good at languages," he explained. "The experts at the oil company said so. They'll send me to school to
learn English and pay me a fortune to work for them." Then he
frowned. "But I'm concerned. Tsentsak did the same thing. Now
his name is Joel, not Tsentsak. They told him to write newspaper
articles against you, Dream Change, Pachamama, and the others
who try to help us fight the oil companies. They told him to claim
he was an elected representative of the Shuar people and to sign
papers giving our land to the company. When he tried to refuse
they said they'd put him in prison."
"What did he do?"
"What could he do? He's writing those articles and signing
those papers."
I asked Tunduam whether he wanted that to happen to him.
He shrugged. "I'd like to learn English and earn a lot of
money." He swept his arms out toward the forests. "All this is
disappearing. The missionaries tell us we must become more
modern, we can't live as hunters any longer."
Such stories strengthened my resolve to help the Shuar and
their neighbors, the Huaorani, Achuar, Kichwa, Shiwiar, and
Zaparo. The dilemma of these people also fired my interest in the
2002 Ecuadorian presidential campaign. For the first time since
Roldos, a candidate appeared to take indigenous issues to heart
while at the same time seriously opposing Big Oil.
I was in Shell, a jungle town named after the oil company,
waiting for a plane to fly me and a group of Dream Change
people into Shuar territory on a day when Lucio Gutierrez was
scheduled to visit. By this time, the presidential candidate had
forged a unique alliance that included Ecuador's armed forces and
the most powerful indigenous organizations. The former
supported him because he was one of them, a retired army
colonel; the latter because he had refused to order his soldiers to
attack indigenous demonstrators
EMPIRE
when they swarmed the presidential palace in 2000, forcing
President Jamil Mahuad to abandon his office. The colonel
instead set up army food kitchens to feed the protestors and then
allowed them to take over the congress building. By disobeying
his president, Gutierrez had abetted the overthrow of a man hated
by the poor because of his overt support of IMF and World Bank
policies, including the highly unpopular doUarization of
Ecuador's currency—an act with severe negative consequences
for every Ecuadorian except those wealthy enough to have
already invested in overseas bank accounts, Wall Street stocks,
and foreign real estate.*
Shell seemed a fitting place for the presidential candidate to
meet people from the jungle. The town had been hacked out of the
forest decades earlier to create a staging ground for oil operations.
The indigenous communities had resisted, sometimes violently.
Quito, with the Pentagon's support, sent thousands of troops and
established a huge military base that began in the center of Shell
and stretched back into the forests. Its paved runways were a
rarity in this part of the world. Its buildings housed some of the
most sophisticated eavesdropping equipment on the planet. It was
said that U.S. and Ecuadorian communications specialists sitting
in an office near Shell's main street could listen to conversations
held in every council lodge in the upper Amazon. Rumors
abounded about missionary groups accepting millions of dollars
from oil-funded foundations in exchange for planting hidden
microphones in the food baskets and medical kits they so
generously distributed. Every
* The conversion of Ecuador's Sucre to the dollar was a political issue of vast
proportions. It was not only a blow to national pride; it also meant that Ecuadorians
who held dollar accounts made windfall profits practically overnight while the rest of
the population saw any savings they might have accumulated plummet. When
Mahuad took office in 1998, an Ecuadorian with 6,500 sucres could purchase one
dollar; in 2000 the official rate was pegged at 25,000 sucres to a dollar, which meant
that the man who owned a dollar's worth of sucres two years earlier now had only 26
cents, while the man wealthy enough to have dollar accounts in an overseas bank had
increased his riches, relative to the local population, by nearly 400 percent. This was a
permanent change as the sucre was demonetized and replaced by the dollar.
116ECUADOR: BETRAYED BY A PRESIDENT
time a tribal council decided to send warriors to disrupt an oil
camp, army units, helicoptered out of Shell, seemed to arrive
there first.
On this day when Gutierrez was scheduled to visit, people
crowded the muddy streets hoping to shake the candidate's hand.
Shuar shamans in traditional toucan-feathered crowns mingled
with U.S. Green Berets, oil drillers, and Ecuadorian commandos.
The atmosphere was festive, old animosities set aside. The
cavalry and Indians had apparently made a pact to ride side by
side to the rescue of a nation demoralized by years of corruption,
inflation, and exploitation.
My visit to Shell came only a few months after September 11,
2001. That tragic event, combined with the failure of the Bush administration to discredit and overthrow Chavez, was having a
major impact on the Ecuadorian presidential campaign. A cartoon
in one of the newspapers illustrated local attitudes. Based on the
Old West theme of two men facing off for a gun duel, the first
box showed a cowboy-hatted Chavez, holster and gun low on his
hip, patrolling a Dodge City street. The second contained a guntoting George Bush stepping out to confront Chavez. The next
depicted Chavez from the back standing up to a Bush whose face
was set in fierce determination. Behind the U.S. president: the
ghostly image of two flaming towers. In the last box, Chavez was
doubled over with laughter as Bush ran away, his feet kicking up
dust, his hat lying in the street; Gutierrez leaned against the wall
of a saloon clapping.
Although our plane arrived and we had to leave Shell before
Gutierrez made his appearance, that short visit helped me better
understand why this election was so important to Ecuador's indigenous people. Like their brethren in Bolivia, Brazil, and
Venezuela, they had suffered for centuries from foreign
exploitation; they were now determined to end that pattern.
Gutierrez was elected president of Ecuador in November
2002. The indigenous people expressed surprise that their man
had
EMPIRE
actually won. They seemed to anticipate more difficult times.
The BBC reported:
The victory of former coup leader Lucio Gutierrez . .. follows
closely on that of Brazilian Workers' Party leader, Lula, and seems
reminiscent of the election of Hugo Chavez in Venezuela.
Each of these men won democratic elections on programmes
based on calls for change, for new strands of economic thinking and
an end to corruption ...
In the first round of voting last month, Mr. Gutierrez surprised
everyone by taking the lead, thanks to a massive vote for change...
But in a country beset by huge debt problems, a poverty level
around 60% and an unstable and unpredictable political system, the
21
odds seem to be stacked heavily against him.
The new president, during his first month in office, flew to
Washington to meet President Bush. He welcomed World Bank
officials to Quito and opened negotiations with the oil companies.
Simultaneously, relations between the companies and indigenous
organizations grew increasingly tense. In December 2002, CGC
(an Argentine company) accused an Amazonian community of
taking a team of its workers hostage and suggested that the jungle
warriors had trained with al-Qaeda. A startling fact emerged: The
oil company had not received government permission from the
inhabitants to begin drilling and yet it claimed the right to trespass
on indigenous lands; the warriors maintained that they had simply
detained the oil team long enough to assure their safe passage out
of the jungle.22
I traveled to Ecuador again in early 2003. When I arrived in
Quito I discovered that many Ecuadorians were convinced that
Gutierrez was cutting secret deals with the oil companies and that
he had agreed to adopt World Bank and IMF SAPs. Photos of him
holding hands with President Bush were plastered around the city.
Indige118ECUADOR: BETRAYED BY A PRESIDENT
nous leaders, incensed over the suggestion that they had joined
an Islamic terrorist organization, pointed out that if Gutierrez
forced them to fight oil company mercenaries, such a rumor might
become self-fulfilling.
"In the old days," one told me, "people who felt threatened by
the U.S. could turn to Russia for weapons and training. Now there
is no one, except those Arabs."
The situation continued to deteriorate throughout 2004. Rumors about oil company profiteering and government corruption
proliferated. Then the government introduced measures reminiscent of those adopted in Bolivia as a result of World Bank
pressures. According to the Associated Press, Gutierrez's "leftleaning constituency soon fell apart after he instituted austerity
measures, including cuts in food subsidies and cooking fuel, to
satisfy international lenders."23
When Ecuador's Supreme Court threatened to interfere with
his policies, Gutierrez ordered its reorganization, in effect
dissolving it. Ecuadorians stormed the streets, demanding his
ouster.
"Gutierrez has to go," an indigenous leader, Joaquin
Yamberla, told me. "He was democratically elected. He broke his
promises to the people. Democracy demands we throw him out of
office."
People kept asking me to identify the EHM who was
corrupting Gutierrez. They had no doubt that Ecuador's president
was capitulating to a combination of threats and bribes. Although
I could not offer a name, I suspected they were correct. As
detailed later in this book, I was subsequently contacted by a
jackal who seemed to claim to be that very man.
Bolivians, however, were experiencing something very
different.
119
22
Bolivia: Bechtel and the Water Wars
Bolivia, like Ecuador and Venezuela, began the twenty-first
century with protests against foreign corporations that plundered
its resources. Demonstrations, boycotts, and strikes halted
commercial activities along the streets of La Paz and many other
cities. Although spearheaded by Aymara and Quechua leaders,
the indigenous people did not stand alone; labor unions and civil
organizations supported them.
Unlike Ecuador and Venezuela, the immediate cause of unrest
was not oil; it was water. During the 1990s it had become increasingly apparent that water would soon be one of the most valuable
resources on the planet. The corporatocracy understood that by
controlling water supplies they could manipulate economies and
governments.
The turmoil in Bolivia once again was detonated by the World
Bank and the IMF. In 1999 the two organizations insisted that the
Bolivian government sell the public water system of its third
largest city, Cochabamba, to a subsidiary of engineering giant
Bechtel, as part of a new round of SAPs. At the World Bank's
insistence, Bolivia further agreed to pass the costs associated with
providing water on to all consumers, regardless of their ability to
pay—an act contrary to indigenous traditions, which hold that all
people have an inherent right to water, regardless of their
economic status.
When I heard that Bolivia had bought into this EHM ploy, I
was racked with guilt; the Every-Person-Pay (EPP) policy was an
approach to rate structuring I helped formulate in the mid-1970s.
At that time the idea was applied mainly to electric tariffs and was
considered innovative. It contradicted a basic premise of most rate
120BOLIVIA: BECHTEL AND THE WATER WARS
plans advocated for helping impoverished regions since the
1930s, including those adopted by the Rural Electrification
Administration (REA) in the United States: that providing
services such as electricity, water, and sewer to everyone was
essential to general economic growth, even if such services had to
be subsidized. Following the REA example, implementing this
theory had proven highly effective in numerous countries. Despite
the successes, the World Bank decided to experiment with
something radically different.
As chief economist of one of the firms hired to promote Bank
policies in the 1970s, I was pressured to develop econometric
models that would prove the validity of EPPs. Econometrics
makes it easy to justify just about anything and I had a brilliant
staff of economists, mathematicians, and financial experts; so
technically it was not a problem. However, there were two issues
that tore at me. The first was the obvious moral one. The second
was pragmatic, a recognition that the old theory had demonstrated
its efficacy time and again. So, I asked myself, why tinker with
success, why risk increased poverty and social unrest, why
advocate EPPs?
The answer was evident: the EPP approach would transform
government-subsidized bureaucracies into profitable "cash cows"
ripe for privatization (as I would later discover in Bolivia at
COBEE). EPPs evolved out of the same mentality as
infrastructure loans that benefited foreign construction companies
and the local rich while leaving the poor with nothing, other than
huge debts. On a trip to Argentina, I learned of another reason.
"These countries are our future security," Gen. Charles Noble
told me as we rode together in a chauffeur-driven car through the
streets of Buenos Aires in 1977. "Chuck" was a vice president at
MAIN (who would later be promoted to president). A West Point
graduate with a master's degree in engineering from MIT, he had
a distinguished military career, having served as commanding
general of the U.S. Army Engineer Command in Vietnam and
president of the Mississippi River Commission. Now he was in
charge of MAIN'S water resource studies for Argentina, including
EMPIRE
those relating to the massive Salto Grande hydroelectric
project the country was building in partnership with Uruguay,
which would produce nearly two thousand megawatts, create a
vast lake, and flood a town of twenty-two thousand inhabitants.
"We lost Vietnam because we didn't understand the
communist mind. We gotta do a whole lot better here in Latin
America." Chuck gave me his best smile, one that was shockingly
gentle for a man with his reputation for toughness. "Don't ever let
the socialists talk you into believing that offering a free lunch
buys anything but disrespect. People have to pay for what they
get. Only way they appreciate it. Besides, it teaches them
capitalism, not communism. Look at that." He pointed at a pond
in a park we were passing. "Water's the future gold and oil
combined. We need to own as much of it as possible. That'll give
us leverage, power."
More than two decades later, I thought about Chuck Noble
when the announcement was made that a single company had
been granted the exclusive right to purchase Cochabamba's water
system, known as SEMAPA. A forty-year privatization lease was
granted to Aguas del Tunari, a partnership led by a subsidiary of
the infamous Bechtel Corporation. Awarding such a license-toexploit to a U.S. company had to make the general very happy.
But people in Latin America felt differently. The San Franciscobased firm had earned a reputation as an organization that
managed to win favors from just about everyone in high places. It
had a long history of securing lucrative contracts from the World
Bank and the U.S. government. Because it was a private
corporation, controlled by a single family, it did not have to open
its books to the SEC or other watchdog organizations and
adamantly refused to do so.
"If Bechtel wants the job, don't even bother to bid," I had been
told during my EHM days on different occasions by government
officials in Indonesia, Egypt, and Colombia. Not long after my
trip to Argentina with Chuck Noble, an Ecuadorian contracting
officer, a personal friend from my Peace Corps days, allowed me
to take him out to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Quito
and
then confided that he would save me thousands of times the
price of that meal by advising me not to spend the next several
months preparing proposals for a project he knew Bechtel was
slated to get. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
"Everyone will grow rich," he said. "Me, the mayor, the president,
the boys from San Francisco." He grimaced. "Except you—and
the other poor suckers who think this is a competitive bidding
process."
Bechtel's ex-officers and executives include such luminaries as
George Shultz (Bechtel president and board member, Secretary of
the Treasury under Nixon, and Secretary of State under Reagan),
Caspar Weinberger (Bechtel vice president and general council,
and Secretary of Defense under Reagan), Daniel Chao (executive
vice president and managing director of Bechtel Enterprises
Holdings, Inc. and member of the advisory committee for the
Export-Import Bank of the United States), and Riley Bechtel
(Bechtel CEO and member of George W. Bush's President's
Export Council). Bechtel's management also included my fatherin-law, who, before he retired, had been the company's chief
architect and then was brought out of retirement to serve as
project manager of a huge Bechtel job to build cities in Saudi
Arabia. My wife had started her career at Bechtel. I knew the
company well—from many angles.
Almost immediately after the lease for SEMAPA was granted
to Bechtel, water rates skyrocketed. Some Cochabambans
experienced an escalation in their bills of more than 300 percent.
This was catastrophic for the city's inhabitants, who ranked
among the continent's most impoverished people.
"They're faced with the choice between food and water," a
Quechua organizer told me. "The gringos want more profits.
Bolivians are dying of thirst. They're told they can't even collect
rain water, that their contract with SEMAPA requires them to pay
Bechtel for any and all water they consume."
The citizens of Cochabamba rebelled. Boycotts shut down the
city for four straight days in January 2000. Mobs threatened to
storm SEMAPA’s offices. Bechtel demanded protection. Bolivian
EMPIRE
President Hugo Banzer acquiesced and mobilized the army. In
the violence that followed, dozens of Aymara and Quechua were
wounded and a seventeen-year-old boy was shot to death.
Fearing a full-blown revolution, President Banzer finally
imposed martial law. Then, after reportedly meeting with U.S.
embassy officials, he announced that he would nullify the Bechtel
contract. In April 2000 Bechtel abandoned its operations at
SEMAPA.
The people of Cochabamba celebrated their victory. They
shared cups of water in the streets. They offered toasts to their
new Aymara and Quechua heroes and wrote songs proclaiming
this triumph as the beginning of a new era. However, soon it was
apparent that they also faced a dilemma. They found that there
was no one left with adequate experience to run SEMAPA. Many
of the former managers had retired, relocated, or accepted other
jobs.
The community elected a new board of directors and
established a set of governing principles that identified social
justice as SEMA-PA's guiding commitment. The water company's
most important objectives would be to supply water to the poor,
including those who had not previously been connected to the
system; provide adequate compensation to its workers; and
operate efficiently and without corruption.24
Meanwhile, Bolivia's government still had to deal with the
corporatocracy. Bechtel was not about to give up its cash cow—
and set a precedent that might encourage other countries to follow
Bolivia's example—without a fight. In a classic case that
demonstrates the corporatocracy's willingness to manipulate
international law in order to achieve its goals, Bechtel enlisted
one of its Dutch holding companies. Drawing on a 1992 Bilateral
Investment Treaty (BIT) between the Netherlands and Bolivia
(since none existed between the United States and Bolivia), the
Dutch subsidiary filed a $50 million lawsuit against the Bolivian
people, half for profits it claimed would be lost from its
"expropriated investment" and half for damages.
This incredible story of corporate intrigue, greed, and
insensitivity
was largely ignored by the U.S. media. However, the Latin
press covered it extensively. As I followed reports posted on their
Web sites, I kept thinking about the people at COBEE. I recalled
that most of the key executives and engineers at Bolivia's most
powerful electric utility—the one that supplied power to both the
presidential palace and military headquarters—were citizens of
other countries (the United States, the United Kingdom,
Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Paraguay). This dependency on
foreign nationals was, I realized, a calculated strategy, virtually
ensuring that the utility would never be nationalized.
I also discovered that Leucadia no longer owned COBEE. The
electric company had been bought and sold several times since
the early 1990s, always by foreign corporations. Leucadia and the
others had reputations for merchandising companies at a profit.
Cash cows were a good thing; but the quick, high-return sale was
even better, especially since it kept local populations off balance.
From all the turmoil, a new leader emerged. Following a
pattern that seemed to be turning into a trend, Evo Morales rose
out of the indigenous community. An Aymara activist, he joined
the Mov-imiento al Socialismo (MAS) party. His was a strong
voice that opposed privatization and what euphemistically was
referred to by corporatocracy supporters as "liberal" or "free
market" economic reforms—policies that would prevent Bolivia
from protecting its farmers and businesses while at the same time
forcing it to accept protectionist barriers from the United States.
He denounced the Washington-driven Free Trade Area of the
Americas as a plan "to legalize the colonization of the Americas."
His popularity grew and he was elected to Congress.
Almost immediately, the corporatocracy labeled him a
terrorist. The U.S. State Department described him as an "illegal
coca agitator."25 Although Morales had been part of the cocalero
movement—a coalition of coca leaf-growing campesinos who
resisted U.S. efforts to eradicate coca farms—he pointed out that
the plant was used by Andean people as a dietary supplement and
medicine long before
EMPIRE
it was made into cocaine. A remedy for altitude sickness,
muscle aches, hunger pangs, and other digestive disorders, coca
tea had been drunk by many dignitaries, including Pope John Paul
II and Britain's Princess Anne. Nevertheless, Morales was forced
out of his congressional seat in 2002 on charges of terrorism. The
Que-chua and Aymara accused the CIA of masterminding his
removal. Within months, his eviction was declared
unconstitutional.
U.S. Ambassador Manuel Rocha warned, "I want to remind
the Bolivian electorate that if you elect those who want Bolivia to
become a major cocaine exporter again, this will endanger the
future of U.S. assistance to Bolivia." Rather than deterring
Bolivians, Rocha inflamed them. Morales declared that the
ambassador's words had helped to "awaken the conscience of the
people." MAS plastered posters onto walls around the country;
above an enormous photo of Morales, huge letters asked:
"Bolivians: You Decide: Whose in Charge? Rocha or the Voice of
the People?"26
In the 2002 presidential elections, MAS finished only a couple
points behind the leading party. Morales refused to endorse the
new president, a millionaire raised in the United States, Gonzalo
Sanchez de Lozada. Instead MAS opted to play the role of
opposition. Like Chavez after his failed coup attempt, Morales's
reputation was bolstered by what on the surface appeared to be a
defeat.
President Sanchez buckled to IMF and World Bank demands.
In 2002 he decreed a huge tax increase. As so often happens in
such circumstances, those who could least afford to pay taxes
ended up hardest hit. Amid ensuing riots, thirty people were
killed. Road blocks and demonstrations brought the country to a
standstill. Sanchez's plans to export natural gas at low prices to
the United States and other countries instead of distributing it to
needy Bolivians further inflamed indigenous communities.
Bloody fighting resulted in another twenty deaths. Finally,
Sanchez was forced to flee the country. He now lives outside
Washington, D.C.; the United States has refused Bolivia's
requests to have him returned for trial.
Bolivians had defied the World Bank and they had defeated
126
Bechtel, one of the most powerful organizations on the planet.
Now one of their "original people," one of those who had been so
brutally subjugated for generations, had risen phoenixlike from
the ashes of his culture's ruins.
In a way, it seemed to me that the real message here was not
just for Bolivians and Latins; it was also intended for Bechtel and
the rest of the corporatocracy. It was a pro-democracy, pro-justice
message that served to inspire the younger generations in Bolivia,
the United States, and the world.
I often found myself thinking about Jessica's comment as we
wound through the Zongo River gorge. "I'm glad they didn't build
a big dam and flood this whole valley," she had said. "It's so
beautiful."
There was nothing beautiful about any aspect of U.S. foreign
policy and CIA skullduggery I encountered during a trip to
Brazil— Washington's attempt to counter the message sent by the
new wave of Latin leaders.
23
Brazil: Skeletons in the Closet
By the time I arrived at the World Social Forum (WSF) in
Brazil in January 2005, the continent was caught up in what
amounted to a revolution against the corporatocracy. In addition
to Chavez, Lula, and Gutierrez, Nestor Kirchner and Tabare
Ramon Vazquez had won elections in Argentina and Uruguay
respectively. Regardless of whether some might be bending under
pressure, all had run populist campaigns that denounced U.S.
intervention and exploitation by foreign corporations. The North
American press could denounce them as "leftists," "friends of
Castro," and even "communists," but in Africa, Asia, and Europe,
as well as Central and South America, people knew that these
adjectives were irrelevant; each of the new presidents had
campaigned as a nationalist determined to see his country's
resources used to help its citizens rise out of poverty.
Something extraordinary was also happening in Chile.
Published reports and recently declassified U.S. government
documents confirmed rumors long held that the Nixon
administration and the CIA had coordinated efforts with U.S.
companies and the Chilean military to overthrow and assassinate
democratically elected president Salvador Allende in 1973.
Allende's "crime" had been to honor his campaign promises that
Chilean resources should belong to Chileans, and, after election,
to nationalize the foreign-owned copper, coal, and steel industries,
and 60 percent of the private banks. As in Iran, Iraq, Guatemala,
Indonesia, and so many other places before, the United States
backed a man to replace him whose personality matched the
profile of a bloodthirsty despot: Gen. Augusto Pinochet Now, two
decades later, the WSF was abuzz with the news that U.S.
congressional investigators and a Chilean judge had uncovered
secret
128BRAZIL: SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET
Pinochet bank accounts at Riggs Bank in Washington and
other foreign banks totaling at least $16 million and that Pinochet
himself would finally be brought to justice for the estimated two
thousand people killed by police and army units under his
command.
Rumors also abounded at the WSF that a Chilean woman
whose air force general father had died in prison for opposing
Pinochet was a strong possibility for the 2005 presidential
elections. Michelle Bachelet had already established herself as a
very competent head of Chile's health and defense ministries; she
had demonstrated that she was a nationalist with the courage to
stand up to the corporato-cracy. If she won, it would mean that
more than 80 percent of South America had voted for
anticorporatocracy presidents, that 300 million people (roughly
the population of the United States) had chosen the candidate who
opposed the empire to the north.
The WSF is a symbol of the changes sweeping our planet. It
was established at the beginning of the third millennium as a
response to the World Economic Forum, where government and
business leaders collaborate, strike deals, hammer out trade
policies, and coordinate other corporatocracy strategies. More
than 150,000 participants from more than 130 countries flocked to
the WSF in Porto Alegre, Brazil, in January 2005 to discuss
economic, social, environmental, and political issues and to
formulate alternatives to failing systems. Presidents Lula of Brazil
and Chavez of Venezuela, among other luminaries, attended the
WSF.
I had been asked by a Swedish nonprofit organization, the Dag
Hammarskjold Foundation, to give a keynote address entitled
"Confessions of an Economic Hit Man—What Next for the
World?" A huge tent was provided for my talk. Rights to the book
had been sold in many languages, but most had not been
published yet. It did not seem to matter; the English version
circulated widely. The crowd that showed up filled the hundreds
of chairs and expanded out through the tent's doorway. Following
my talk, dozens lined up .it the microphone to ask questions and
make their own comments. I personally was particularly moved
by a young Brazilian man who
EMPIRE
launched into a critique of his own government; he accused
Lula of succumbing to the EHMs and backing down from his
campaign promises. His brief speech reminded me of similar
criticisms against Gutierrez I had heard in Ecuador.
My speech opened a door. I was approached by groups of
people from Africa, Asia, and Latin America, and by a number of
individuals. They all wanted to share their stories and ideas, as
well as hear more of mine.
One man who was more elegantly dressed than most handed
me a business card identifying him as a top advisor to President
Lula of Brazil. He asked me to meet him in a small park near my
hotel. "Please keep this confidential, just between us," he added.
At the designated time, I walked to the park. I was a bit
anxious; I wondered if I had somehow displeased the Brazilian
administration. I could not see how; yet to be approached by a
government official and to meet in this clandestine manner
seemed very strange.
I stood at the edge of the park for a few minutes, trying to
relax. Horns honked and raucous music with a head-pounding
beat blared from a passing car. I bent over a flowering bush to
smell its fragrance, but the only odor was that of car exhaust. I
thought about this city. Porto Alegre is an industrial center with a
population of nearly 1.5 million but few people I had talked with
in the United States had ever heard of it. I straightened and
walked into the park.
"Jose" was sitting on a bench under a tree. He had exchanged
his pressed shirt and creased slacks for a polo shirt and blue jeans.
He sported oversized sunglasses that gave him a dragonfly
appearance and wore a floppy straw hat pulled low over his
forehead. When I approached, he stood up, peering nervously
around, and shook my hand. "Thank you for coming," he said.
Still standing, he explained in flawless English that if anyone
should interrogate him about our rendezvous he would simply tell
them he was trying to learn more about me and my book before
its impending publication in Portuguese. "But I hope it doesn't
come to that," he added, once again scanning the park. "One never
knows though, these days . . ." His voice trailed
off and he motioned to the bench. "Please." We sat down side
by side.
He asked questions about some of the people in Confessions,
focusing particularly on the Iranians "Yamin" and "Doc" who in
1977, at great personal risk to themselves, shared with me
information about the shah and the mullahs' determination to
overthrow him (something that happened nearly two years later).
Jose expressed his relief over my assurances that Yamin and
Doc's true identities would never be disclosed. He said that he
wanted his message to reach the people of the United States, but
that I had to guarantee to keep the source confidential. He invited
me to take notes, as long as I did not disclose his name. During
our conversation, he mentioned that he had been twenty-six years
old at the time I graduated from college in 1968.
He told me that he had read my book and appreciated the
things I had exposed. However, he said, "It is only the tip of the
iceberg. I'm sure you know this, but I feel I must say it. Even your
book misses the real story."
Jose described the tremendous pressure being exerted on his
boss, Lula. "It's not just about bribes and the threat of coups or assassinations, not just about striking deals and falsifying economic
forecasts, not just about enslaving us through debts we can never
repay. It goes much deeper."
He went on to explain that in Brazil and many other countries,
the corporatocracy essentially controls all political parties. "Even
radical communist candidates who appear to oppose the United
States are compromised by Washington."
When I asked him how he knew all this, he laughed. "I've been
around a long time," he said. "I've always been involved in
politics. From Johnson to Bush, both Bushes, I've seen it all. Your
intelligence agencies, as well as your economic hit men, are a lot
more efficient than even you imagine."
Jose described how students are lured in while they are naive
and vulnerable. He talked about his own personal experiences as a
young man and the way women, booze, and drugs were used. "So
you see,
EMPIRE
even when a radical opponent of the U.S. gets into office, and
assuming that at this point in his life he sincerely wants to stand
up to Washington, your CIA has what you call 'the goods' on
him."
"Blackmail."
He chuckled at this. "You might call it that, or you might call
it 'modern diplomacy.' It isn't just the U.S. of course. Surely
you've heard the rumors about why Noriega was taken down and
today rots in a U.S. prison."
"I've heard that he had cameras on Contadora Island." It was
an infamous resort off Panama's coast, a "safe haven" where U.S.
businessmen could treat politicians to every conceivable vice. I
had visited—and used—Contadora several times during my EHM
days.
"You heard who got caught by those cameras?"
"Rumors that George W. was photographed doing coke and
having kinky sex during the time his father was president." There
was a theory in Latin America that Noriega had used
incriminating photos of the younger Bush and his cronies to
convince the older Bush, the president, to side with the
Panamanian administration on key issues. In retaliation, H. W.
invaded Panama and hustled Noriega off to a Miami prison. The
building housing Noriega's confidential files had been incinerated
by bombs; as a side effect, more than two thousand innocent
civilians were burned to death in Panama City that day in
December 1989. Many people claimed that this theory offered the
only logical explanation for violently attacking a nation without
an army and that posed no threat to the United States.
Jose nodded. "From where I sit, those rumors ring awfully
true. I've experienced things that take them out of the realm of
fantasy." He cocked his head. "So have you." He paused, looking
around. "And it terrifies me."
I asked whether Lula had been corrupted and for how long. It
was obvious that this question made him extremely
uncomfortable. After a long pause, he admitted that Lula was part
of the system. "Otherwise, how could he have risen to such a
position?" However, Jose also professed his admiration for Lula.
"He's a realist. He understands
that in order to help his people he has no choice ..." Then he
shook his head. "I fear," he said, "that Washington will try to
bring Lula down if he goes too far."
"How do you think they'd do it?"
"Everyone has—as you say—skeletons in his closet. Every
politician has done things that can look bad, if brought into the
light in a certain way. Clinton had Monica. She wasn't the issue,
though. Clinton went too far in his efforts to revise world
currencies and he posed a huge threat to future Republican
campaigns—he was just too young, dynamic, and charismatic. So
Monica was marched into the spotlight. Don't you believe that
Bush has a few women in his background too? But who dares talk
about them? Lula has skeletons. If the powers that run your
empire want to bring him down, they'll open the closet door.
There are many ways to assassinate a leader who threatens U.S.
hegemony." He gave me a look that I would remember several
months later when four senior officials from Lula's party resigned
amid accusations that they had masterminded a multimilliondollar scheme to pay legislators in return for votes and it looked
as though Lula's political career would end as a result of the
scandal.
In response to my question about how we might rein in the
empire, he said, "That's why I'm meeting with you. Only you in
the United States can change it. Your government created this
problem and your people must solve it. You've got to insist that
Washington honor its commitment to democracy, even when
democratically elected leaders nationalize your corrupting
corporations. You must take control of your corporations and
your government. The people of the United States have a great
deal of power. You need to come to grips with this. There's no
alternative. We in Brazil have our hands tied. So do the
Venezuelans. And the Nigerians. It's up to you."
The euphoria I felt over the reception of my book and the
speech I gave at the WSF was dampened by that conversation
with Jose. Wandering around the streets of Porto Alegre, I
became increasingly dejected. This, I suppose, made me more
vulnerable to the stunning Brazilian woman who claimed to be a
journalist.
133
24
The Beautiful Carioca
I could not help but notice her sitting in the front row of the
tent, just below the podium, as I gave my presentation. The
auburn hair tumbling about her shoulders, the long legs exposed
by the short skirt, the high cheekbones that bespoke indigenous
blood, and the smile that seemed intended exclusively for me—all
these set her apart even in this country that is famous for its
beautiful women.
After my speech, she was the first to the podium. She shook
my hand warmly and offered me a card with her name, Beatriz
Muchala, a list of several magazines, and a Rio address. "I must
interview you," she said. "My readers simply have to know more.
I'm Spanish by heritage, born in Argentina." She smiled. "But
Carioca at heart."
The way she expressed it, as well as the words themselves, put
me on alert. Cariocas, women from Rio de Janiero, were
legendary for their ability to please men. But Beatriz struck me as
different. Perhaps it was the strategy of where she had sat, her
posturing and clothes, or that she was just a bit too beautiful. My
instincts warned me away. I told her that my schedule was full.
Later that day I recalled a retired CIA agent who shared with
me his version of Clinton's impeachment. It was consistent with
the things Jose had described. "Linda Tripp was assigned to destroy a president feared as a reformer who might undermine the
corporatocracy," the CIA man said. "As you know, guys like me
always look for 'innocents' to do our dirty work. Less risk, no evidence. Linda found her innocent in Monica Lewinsky. She told
Monica, 'Poor Bill doesn't get any TLC at home. You could do
him a favor.' The rest is history."
Beatriz approached me several times later that day as I met
with
134THE BEAUTIFUL CARIOCA
groups from Africa and Europe. I remained resolute.
Amazingly, our paths crossed again after my discussion with Jose
as I wandered around the city, dazed by what I had just heard. She
gave me another card. This time she was less persistent, perhaps
sensitive to my emotional state. Or hurt to discover that my
schedule was not full—I was out for a walk. This latter gave me a
pang of guilt. Why had I been so suspicious?
After that I found it hard to take my mind off her. I suppose
my discussion with Jose should have warned me to be cautious.
But, in fact, it had the opposite effect. I felt discouraged, dejected.
Now I kicked myself for not agreeing to the interview. Spending
time with a beautiful woman might be just what I needed. After
all, she was a journalist and I had come to Brazil to spread the
message of my book. What harm could a meeting with her have
done?
I was relieved to find a message from her waiting at the front
desk of my hotel. I called her and agreed to join her at her hotel
that evening—in a very public place, the lobby.
Beatriz and I sat near the main door of the Plaza Hotel. The
mini-skirt had been replaced by designer jeans. She requested that
we conduct the interview in Spanish, explaining that her English
was inferior to my Spanish. The articles would be published both
in Argentina and Brazil; she would translate them into
Portuguese. She shared a little of her background growing up in
Argentina and I told about some of my experiences in Buenos
Aires. She joked about the difficulties of being an Argentine
woman amid the beauties of Rio.
After perhaps fifteen minutes, she requested my permission to
use a tape recorder. I agreed. She pulled one out of a large knit
handbag, set the microphone up on the table between us, and
asked me several questions about EHMs. Then she checked the
recorder, rewinding the tape and listening to it with earphones.
She frowned and shook her head. "Too much background noise."
She returned to the handbag, shuffled through it, removed a pen
and notebook, apologized, and asked me to repeat the answers I
had just given. I did so.
EMPIRE
When we finished, she relaxed back into her chair, bit at the
end of her pen, and mentioned my previous books on indigenous
cultures. "My readers need to understand better about the people
living in our vast rainforests. Can we move on to that subject?"
Overloaded with EHM conversations, I welcomed the
opportunity to discuss my earlier writings.
She gave her tape recorder a wistful look. "I'd really like to
have this on tape," she said. "How about getting away from this
noise? My room is just an elevator ride away."
By now, I had bought into the idea of discussing indigenous
cultures. I was impressed with Beatriz's professionalism and was
enjoying our banter. Given my background, perhaps I should have
been more wary, but my guard was lowered.
Following her down the long corridor from the elevator to her
room, it was impossible not to be reminded of her physical
beauty. Her high heels, tight jeans, and flowing auburn hair
accentuated the walk that had made the beaches at Copacabana
and Ipanema famous.
Once in the room, she sat me down on a sofa and busied
herself positioning the tape recorder on a small table in front of it.
Then she offered me a glass of wine. Although I seldom drink
anything but beer, I accepted. She poured us each one and joined
me on the sofa. "Let's get right to it," she said.
As I responded to her questions, I became aware that our
bodies were touching. She moved closer. She reached down and,
turning off the recorder, handed me my glass. Her fingers brushed
against mine. Our glasses clinked. I watched her sip hers. Then
suddenly I remembered her earlier in the day standing alone on
the street between my hotel and the park where I had met Jose.
How likely was such a "chance" encounter in a city the size of
Porto Alegre? It hit me in the gut. I was pretty certain that
Beatriz's motives were not simply to have sex with a best-selling
author. Her eyes met mine, as she sipped her wine. I set my glass
down, untouched, wondering if maybe it had been doctored.
136
"I'm old enough to be your father." I glanced around the room,
searching for a hidden camera. "And I'm married." I stood up.
"In Brazil we have an expression: Older men know how to
please a woman; married men are discreet."
"I've got to go," I said.
"It's so early."
I made my way to the door. "Let's end tonight as friends."
She rose from the couch and walked toward me.
I opened the door. "Please send me a copy of the EHM
interview." By now I was backing into the corridor.
"If you change your mind, you can call." She smiled sweetly.
"I'm here—all night. In any case, I will send you a copy."
But she never did.
25
Taking on the Empire
Not long after I returned from Brazil, its neighbor Bolivia
entered a new period of political strife. The man who replaced
deposed president Gonzalo Sanchez de Lozada, Carlos Mesa, was
viewed as weak at best, and as a corporatocracy collaborator at
worst. Evo Morales's MAS party and the indigenous
organizations demanded land rights, subsidized cooking fuel for
the poor, and nationalization of the oil and gas industries.
As I read reports streaming across the Internet and talked with
friends in Latin America, I often visualized that long line of
women, men, and children standing in the freezing rain waiting to
pay their electric bills. What were they thinking now? They had
seemed so docile, downtrodden, like the slaves who had worked
the Spanish tin mines. But something had sparked them. They had
fallen out of line and flooded the streets. They had swarmed the
offices of the water company. They had surrounded the
presidential palace. They had stood up to the World Bank, defied
the corporatocracy, incurred the wrath of history's mightiest
empire. They had died for their cause. What had it taken to make
all that happen?
There are always a number of answers to such questions, but
in this case, one of those answers was especially significant: a
single man, Evo Morales. He was, of course, just one of a handful
of leaders behind this new movement, but he was the one who
became a congressman and then declared himself a candidate for
the presidency. Above all else he was a symbol and a catalyst.
Like George Washington, Simon Bolivar, and all great leaders
before him, Evo Morales was both visionary and activist. He was
the hope for Bolivia and also for the rest of us, because his rise
was the materialization of a dream
138TAKING ON THE EMPIRE
we all share: that at times of grave crises a human being will
emerge to lead his people out of the darkness and into the light.
Morales owed a great deal to that other modern Latin leader,
Hugo Chavez, the president who, like the cartoon gunfighter, had
stood up to the most powerful ruler in the world and backed him
down. The fact that millions of Latin Americans saw George W.
Bush not as a legally elected representative of a democracy but
rather as a despot who had stolen an election served both Chavez
and Morales well. If great leaders need hostile adversaries, these
men had theirs.
Events in another country also bolstered Morales. For very
different reasons, the ongoing politics of Ecuador were working
in the Aymara leader's favor. Accusing Lucio Gutierrez of cutting
deals with the EHMs, the Ecuadorian people demanded his
resignation. On April 20, 2005, lawmakers in Quito voted to
remove Gutierrez from office; they swore in Vice President
Alfredo Palacio to temporarily replace him.
It did not take long for the new Ecuadorian president to
identify the transgressions of his predecessor as stemming from
his willingness to cater to the IMF, the World Bank, Washington,
and Wall Street. Two days after the ouster, The New York Times
reported that Palacio and his economic minister, Rafael Correa,
criticized the former president's "ties to the international lending
institutions" and "called it immoral for a country to use 40% of its
budget to service its debt." Stating that "his new government may
reconsider the direction of trade talks now under way with the
United States," The Times said Mr. Palacio indicated that he
"would like to use oil money earmarked for the public debt to pay
for social spending."27
In Bolivia, Morales read the Ecuadorian situation as an
endorsement of the policies he advocated, another sign that the
Andes was ready for change, and proof that the time was right for
a person with his background (which by modern materialistic
standards was impoverished) to take the helm. The official U.S.
reaction to him was hostile; however, from a Latin standpoint,
that served as another
139
form of confirmation. Reflecting Washington's position, The
New York Times reported:
For the Bush administration, the prospect of Mr. Morales in the
presidency is seen as a potentially serious setback in the war on
drugs, one which could jeopardize hundreds of millions of dollars in
28
American anti-drug, economic and development aid.
Bolivians and other Latins understood that the White House
and the mainstream U.S. media would stoop to any level to vilify
Morales. This tactic might fool the U.S. electorate, but, as
Ambassador Rocha had demonstrated earlier with his statements
about withholding U.S. aid if a candidate like Morales were
elected, such threats had the opposite effect in Bolivia.
At a party attended by a number of Latin American students in
the United States I heard a joke.
"Who was Hugo's number-one publicist?" (Pause.) "George
Bush. Who is Evo's number-one publicist?"
Answer: "George Bush?"
"Nope. He's number three. The Wall Street Journal and New
York Times beat him out."
26
Kindred Spirits
For many Latin Americans, Evo Morales symbolized the anticorporatocracy, pro-poor people movement. Dressed in traditional
Andean sweaters, ponchos, and woolen caps, he dared to flaunt
his humble roots. He unabashedly proclaimed the greatness of his
people to the world, saying that just because they had been subjugated for centuries did not mean they would not now fight for
their lands and their pride. Exploitation did not equal inferiority.
Materialistic poverty was not a sign of moral inadequacy.
Announcing that he would run for president, he promised to
fight foreign corporations determined to plunder resources and to
defy the United States' demand that his country destroy its coca
crops. Emphasizing that the plant only becomes a problem after it
is processed into cocaine and shipped outside Bolivia, he insisted
that the drug issue be handled at the consumer end.
In December 2005 Evo Morales won a landslide victory to become Bolivia's first Indian president. He immediately announced
that he would cut his salary in half, mandated that no Cabinet
minister would be paid more than he, and earmarked the money
saved for hiring more public school teachers. His vice president,
Alvaro Garcia Linera, had been a guerrilla leader in Bolivia's
anticorporato-cracy revolutionary movement, spent four years in
prison, was educated as a mathematician in Mexico, and then
became a sociology professor at Mayor de San Andres university
in La Paz, where he was praised as an intellectual and political
analyst. The minister of justice, a woman, had worked as a maid.
The leader of the senate was a rural school teacher. Although
indigenous, Morales said his commitment was to all of Bolivia's
poor and disenfranchised,
EMPIRE
whether they lived in city slums, high in the Andes, or deep in
the jungles.
The mainstream press in the United States openly deceived its
U.S. audiences. In a campaign eerily reminiscent of the one
launched against Guatemala's Arbenz before we invaded that
country, the media conveyed the impression that Morales was a
"Communist" and "agent of Castro."
Bechtel dropped its legal suit against Bolivia in January 2006,
the month after Morales's election.
Less than four months later, on May 2, 2006, President
Morales ordered the Bolivian military to occupy oil and gas fields
around the country and place them under state control. Giving
corporate executives 180 days to renegotiate existing contracts
with the government, he proclaimed, "The looting by the foreign
companies has ended." Rather than sharing profits in the ratio of
roughly 80 percent to foreign corporations, 20 percent to
Bolivians, he demanded a reversal in those numbers.29
Some saw the Bolivian move as a swing away from a united
Latin front; they pointed out that Brazil and Argentina would be
most significantly impacted since they import large quantities of
Bolivian natural gas. However, Chavez vehemently defended
Morales, saying, "We support a Bolivia that is pointing the same
direction that Venezuela is pointing. We have recovered the
control of our natural resources and our mineral riches in a very
long and difficult process that even cost us an attempted coup. (In
Bolivia) I am sure that everything will turn out well."
Morales himself made his policies very clear; he favored
nationalism and also a united front when it came to Latin America
versus the United States; he opposed corporate exploitation,
regardless of where the corporations were headquartered:
We're going to defend the natural resources. If before, Bolivia
was no man's land, now it is someone's land. It is the land of
Bolivians,
142KINDRED SPIRITS
especially the indigenous and original people. Private
companies, oil companies, transnational companies, if they want to
come here and they want to respect Bolivian laws, they are welcome
.. . but the companies that don't want to respect Bolivian laws, that
don't want to subordinate themselves to the state, the law—may bad
30
things come to them!
In January 2006, Chile followed in the footsteps of Argentina,
Bolivia, Brazil, Ecuador, and Uruguay when Michelle Bachelet
won her bid for the presidency on a platform that emphasized
self-determination. The first woman ever to hold this position, she
immediately fulfilled a campaign promise by naming women to
half her Cabinet posts.
While these leaders could trace their heritage back to heads of
state who had courageously opposed empires in the past, something different was happening in the first decade of the new millennium. And that difference had global implications.
Never before had so many voters sent to the highest office at
the same time leaders who so strongly defended the rights of their
people against the moneyed interests of the United States. Never
before had there been such unanimity. Never before such a show
of support for the poorest of the poor—both urban and rural. Or
for indigenous populations. Never had colonized countries
delivered such a powerful and unanimous message to their
colonizer. It had not happened in the western hemisphere. Not in
Africa or Asia. Although the Middle East also resisted the grip of
empire, the struggles there took a terrible toll on the region's own
people. The Latin American revolution, on the other hand, was
not just aimed at expelling foreign exploiters; it was a positive
movement toward greater equality, freedom, and social reform.
For the most part, it was peaceful. Its impact reached around the
planet and was setting an example; it accomplished concrete goals
and inspired people on every continent.
EMPIRE
The newly elected presidents also began something
completely unprecedented in the history of the hemisphere. They
agreed to defend each other. United not by a single leader (as in
the time of Bolivar) but through mutual consent, they expanded
their stance against the IMF, the World Bank, and the U.S.
government to include self-defense. Countries like Brazil,
Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Venezuela led efforts to switch their
military objectives from protecting multinational corporations to
defending their countries against foreign intervention. And they
began to seriously discuss the possibility of extensive military
cooperation.
In addition to strengthening the bonds with one another, Latin
American countries began aggressively developing relationships
with India, China, and other nations that share a distrust of U.S.
empire building. In a highly significant November 2005 trip to the
continent, China's President Hu Jintao visited Argentina, Brazil,
Chile, and Cuba, and conducted bilateral meetings with Mexico's
President Vicente Fox and Peru's President Alejandro Toledo.
Chinese businesses have quietly beaten out U.S. corporations in a
number of areas that previously were considered U.S. turf. A
Chinese company effectively controls the "anchor ports" at both
ends of the Panama Canal. China and Brazil launched their Earth
Resources Satellite program in 1998. While Washington's
attempts to create trade pacts that favor U.S. corporations have
met with repeated resistance from Latin leaders, less onerous
overtures by the Chinese have been embraced. This may seem
contradictory given China's potential as an emerging empire;
however, Latins understand that China, unlike the United States,
does not have a history of meddling in their affairs. Similar to the
U.S.S.R. in the sixties, seventies, and eighties, China today is seen
as a place that offers balance, a protector against U.S. aggression.
That Latin emissaries are fanning out across the world reflects
a determination to increase commercial relationships; however, it
is also part of the anti-corporatocracy movement and a clear
indication
144
that our southern neighbors are determined to oppose U.S.
hegemony.
Latin fears of U.S. intervention are justified by covert
activities, as well as by Washington's pronounced policies. This
became clear to me when I was approached by several jackals
who wanted to "come in from the cold" and confess their recent
sins.
27
A History of Assassinations
1 walked into El Presidente's office two days after he was elected and
congratulated him.
He sat behind that big desk grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat.
I stuck my left hand into my jacket pocket and said, "Mr. President, in
here I got a couple hundred million dollars for you and your family, if you
play the game—you know, be kind to my friends who run the oil companies,
treat your Uncle Sam good." Then I stepped closer, reached my right hand
into the other pocket, bent down next to his face, and whispered, "In here I got
a gun and a bullet with your name on it—in case you decide to keep your
campaign promises."
I stepped back, sat down, and recited a little list for him, of presidents
who were assassinated or overthrown because they defied their Uncle Sam:
from Diem to Torrijos—you know the routine.
He got the message.
Brett sipped on his beer. "That's it," he said, turning to watch a
bikinied blonde hop onto a boat at the Waterway Cafe in Palm
Beach Gardens, Florida. "That about says it all."
When Brett first contacted me, he identified himself as a
jackal who wanted "to talk about Ecuador and other Latin
American countries." He refused to be more specific over the
phone or by e-mail. We met on a beach near my Florida home.
Then, later, at several restaurants. Although still in the EHM
business and therefore unwilling to publicly share his identity, he
was distressed by the attitudes of those who hired him. "Too
arrogant," he said. "And corrupt. Our citizens should know about
our elected officials and how their attitudes turn lots of old friends
against us." He admitted to making
146A HISTORY OF ASSASSINATIONS
"around a half million dollars a year tax free." He had started,
according to him, because growing up in a Cuban family that lost
millions when Castro overthrew Fulgencio Batista, he feared
communism. "The Commies are gone," he lamented. "This is still
my job. I'm damn good at it too. I just don't like the fact that these
jerks in Washington are creating a very bad impression."
Everything about Brett looked and felt the part. He was
muscular with cropped hair. Unlike Neil, the man who headed
security operations in tsunami-devastated Indonesia, he had the
appearance of a cop. His accurate descriptions of people and
places, including Panama and Torrijos in the late 1970s when he
said he was just beginning his trade, were consistent with my
recollections. Talking with him about his contemporary exploits
took me back to those days. He would not identify his subject
president by name, his most recent endeavor to turn an elected
leader against his own stated policies, telling me instead that he
wanted me to present that story as one of several examples of his
work.
Nothing that he said surprised me. I always suspected that
most of the presidents in those seven countries had been
approached by someone who had my old job as an EHM. Not
unknown to the president, this person had hung around the centers
of power for some time, as a World Bank staffer, a U.S. embassy
or USAID employee, or a consultant. Only after the election did
he expose his most essential function.
When skeptics sometimes tell me they know that
assassinations happen but ask why they should believe that people
like EHMs, like Brett, exist, I point out the obvious. No sane
person assassinates a bead of state without first trying to bring
him around. No politician or CIA agent would consider it. Not
even the most hardened mafi-oso would do that. It is simply too
risky. And too messy. There are so many possibilities for error.
You always send emissaries first. They offer the carrot of
corruption and then, if that does not work, they threaten the stick
of coup or assassination.
When I was sent on similar assignments, I was more subtle
than
EMPIRE
Brett. I always assumed that hidden tape recorders captured
conversations in government offices. However, the meaning of
the message was the same. The president was left with no doubt:
He could remain in power and get rich if he cooperated with us or
he would be thrown out, alive or dead, if he did not.
President Chavez spoke about his own contacts with EHMs
and jackals on Venezuelan radio. The BBC reported one of
several of his talks on this subject:
The president referred to the book Confessions of an Economic
Hit Man by John Perkins, saying that these economic hit men approached him at one point. He said he was offered funds from the
IMF if he agreed to surveillance flights and the presence of U.S.
advisers ... Even though he refused their offers, he said, these
economic hit men did not give up and tried to exert pressure through
"weak" government officials, legislatures and even military officers
around him. Chavez said that as Perkins explains in his book, the
jackals step in and stage coups d'etat and assassination plots when
the economic hit men fail in their mission. "We have defeated the
economic hit men and the jackals, and if they even consider coming
back, we will defeat them again," he stressed to cheers from the
31
crowd.
Following President Gutierrez's removal, I was contacted by
Ecuadorian journalists. I discussed my conversations with Brett
and suggested that the former president might have been visited
by such a person. Whenever the opportunity arose during these
interviews, I pointed out that my purpose was not to criticize any
Latin politicians, but rather to ask the people of the United States
to insist that our government and our corporations abstain from
trying to impede democracy.
At least one of my interviews was picked up by the
Ecuadorian press. On March 3, 2006, I received an e-mail from
Bill Twist, chairman of the Pachamama Alliance, a nonprofit on
whose board
I sit. Attached was an e-mail from a staff member in the
organization's Ecuadorian office, along with an article from
Quito's daily newspaper, El Comercio, that carried the headline,
LUCIO GUTIERREZ INDICTS PERKINS FOR DEFAMATION (March i,
2006). The staff member's e-mail summarized that article: "John's
interview ... is really causing a ruckus down here! ... In today's
Comercio, the director of Gutierrez' political party announces that
the ex-president will present criminal charges for defamation
against him. This is pretty hot stuff because it's election season
and the survival of Gutierrez' fledgling political party is on the
line."
El Comercio phoned me for a follow-up interview. I
emphasized to the reporter my conviction that I had no right to
participate in Ecuadorian politics, that my intention had never
been to vilify Gutierrez, that my goal was instead to convince the
U.S. public that our government and corporations frequently
overstep their authority, and that we must demand an end to such
abuses of power. I said that while I had no proof that an EHM
visited Gutierrez, I personally had exerted that type of pressure on
government officials in the past.
I heard no more from Gutierrez. However, as a result of
Confessions and the articles in El Comercio, several members of
the U.S. armed forces approached me with accounts of maneuvers
on Colombian soil aimed at a military invasion of Venezuela.
Like Brett, they were deeply concerned about the course their
country was taking; they did not dare go public but they wanted
the American people to hear about their experiences.
Colombia is the glaring exception to the hemispheric anticorporatocracy movements. It has maintained its position as
Washington's surrogate. Shored up by massive U.S. taxpayer
assistance and armies of corporate-sponsored mercenaries, as well
as formal U.S. military support, it has become the keystone in
Washington's attempt's to regain regional domination. Although
official justification for U.S. involvement centers on drug wars,
this is a subterfuge for protecting oil interests against grassroots
opposition to foreign exploitation.
EMPIRE
Raul Zibechi, a member of the editorial council of the weekly
Brecha de Montevideo and a professor at the Franciscan
Multiversity of Latin America, points out that Colombia is now
the world's fourth-largest beneficiary of U.S. military aid, behind
Israel, Egypt, and Iraq (the Associated Press ranks it as number
3P and that the U.S. Embassy in Bogota is the second largest in
the world, after Iraq. He states that he and other analysts have
concluded that Washington is creating a South American unified
armed force, commanded by the Pentagon, that is a military
version of the proposed Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA)
and is headquartered in Colombia.33
The men who contacted me—two army privates and a second
lieutenant—substantiated Professor Zibechi's allegations. They
asserted that the real reasons they had been stationed in Colombia
were to establish a U.S. presence and to train Latin soldiers as
part of a United States-commanded Southern Unified Army (a
term two of the three used).
"Everything we do in Colombia just makes it more attractive
for the drug business," the lieutenant told me. "Why do you think
the situation keeps getting worse there? Because we want it to,
we're behind the drug trafficking. The CIA is—just like it was in
Asia's Golden Triangle. And in Central America and Iran during
Iran-Contra. And the British with opium in China. Coke provides
illicit money, in the billions—for clandestine activities—and an
excuse to build up our armies. What more can you ask? We're
there, men like me in the legit army, to protect oil and to invade
Venezuela. The drug game is a smokescreen."
A former U.S. Green Beret officer told me that a mercenary
army was being assembled in Guyana, along the Venezuelan
border. He said that all the men were combat-hardened
paratroopers, training for jungle warfare and learning Spanish.
"We got wars under way in Afghanistan and Iraq. No jungles
there. No Spanish. So what's the point? But guess where there's
lots of jungle? Venezuela. And they speak Spanish in Venezuela.
In addition to guys like me—U.S., British, and South African
mercenaries—there's a lot of guys in Guyana from Latin militaries, mostly WHINSEC graduates."
The Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation
(WHINSEC), formerly the School of the Americas (SOA), trains
Latin soldiers in combat, counter insurgency, interrogation,
torture, spying, communications, and assassination. Its graduates
include some of the continent's most notorious generals and
dictators. SOA was located in the Panama Canal Zone until Omar
Torrijos insisted on its removal. The fact that Manuel Noriega
would not allow it back after Torrijos's death is one of the reasons
the United States placed him on its "Most Wanted" list. Both
Torrijos and Noriega were SOA graduates and both understood
the power it wielded as an antidemocratic institution. It was
moved to Fort Benning, Georgia, and in 2001 its name was
changed in an attempt to dampen growing criticism.
One morning during the time of the controversy over the articles in El Comercio, Marta Roldos e-mailed me from Ecuador.
She said she would be traveling to the States and hoped to talk
with me about the death of her father, Jaime, the Ecuadorian
president who refused to be corrupted by me and other EHMs,
and who died in a plane crash on May 24,1981. According to
news reports, his plane hit a mountain. However, credible sources
confirmed my belief that it was not an accident; that he had been
assassinated by the CIA. In Confessions I wrote: "In addition to
the fact that Washington and the oil companies hated him, many
circumstances appeared to support these allegations." Marta said
she wanted to discuss those circumstances.
She flew into Miami and drove north to a restaurant near my
home in Palm Beach County on March 16, 2006. My daughter,
Jessica (by then, twenty-three years old), and I met her at a
restaurant with an outdoor patio where we spent several hours
conversing. Marta explained that she had come to the United
States primarily to seek help in setting up a Jaime Roldos Library.
It would be the first
EMPIRE
of its type in her country, a memorial to a popular president
who had died tragically while in office. "Like the JFK Library,"
she said, beaming. She confided that it would house information
never before made public about her father's death, adding, "I
firmly believe that it was an assassination. The pilot was one of
the best in the Air Force and my father's friend. He had a family
and children and cared deeply for my mother, who was also on
board; he would not have done anything foolish, as the report
said. Contrary to press reports, the route that the airplane was
supposed to take was not rugged country by Ecuadorian standards
and the weather was not bad at all. The airplane inexplicably went
off the route."
Marta then went on to describe details that had been concealed
from the public at the time. The site had been sealed off
immediately after the crash; local police had been kept out; only
Ecuadorian and U.S. military personnel were allowed in. Two key
witnesses had been killed in car accidents before they were
supposed to testify in hearings concerning the cause of the crash.
One of the plane's engines had been sent to a Swiss laboratory and
tests there indicated that it had stopped before it "hit the
mountain." Marta was only seventeen on the day of the tragedy.
Both her parents had died in that crash. She had been devastated,
and for years unable to take action. Then when she turned fortyone she realized that she had reached her father's last year; it was
time to act.
"You talk in your book," she continued, "about the impact my
father's death had on Omar Torrijos. I know that to be true too. I
married Omar's nephew; he's the father of my ten-year-old
daughter. My dad's assassination haunted Omar. He told my
husband and many others that he expected to be killed just like
my dad was. He said he was ready to die because he had
succeeded, he had put the Canal in Panamanian hands and had
thrown the School of the Americas out of his country."
Omar Torrijos died in a plane crash a little more than two
months after Jaime Roldos, on July 31,1981.
After returning home from that meeting with Marta I typed the
above record of our conversation. I ran it by Jessica, sat on it
for a week, reviewed it again, and then when I believed Marta
was back in Ecuador e-mailed it to her. I did not hear back from
her. I tried several more times. In June my wife and I moved to
our summer residence in New England. I e-mailed Marta from
there, a brief message asking her to confirm that I had her correct
address. "Yes," was the reply, "this is me, Marta." Again I emailed her the record of our conversation, asking whether she
wanted to add anything or modify it in any way. I never heard
back. About two weeks later, I logged on to my e-mail and saw
one from her address. Excited, I opened it, to find that I was on a
list of many people being informed about a theater schedule in
Ecuador! I hit the "reply" button and again requested her
comments on my typed record. Not a word came back.
I accepted an invitation to give a commencement address on
June II, 2006, at a high school near Northampton, Massachusetts.
As a result, I became friends with the school's Spanish teacher,
Juan Carlos Carpio, a native of Ecuador whose uncle, Dr. Jaime
Galarza Zavala, is a highly respected Ecuadorian intellectual,
author of many important books, including Who Killed Jaime
Roldos, and currently president of the Casa de la Cultura
Ecuatoriana (one of the country's foremost cultural institutions) in
El Oro province, Ecuador's main banana-exporting region. In
August 2006, Juan Carlos called to inform me that his uncle was
attending a conference in New York City and would like to meet
with me.
On August 14, my wife, Winifred, and I drove to La Cazuela,
a restaurant in Northampton. When we walked in I spied Juan
Carlos and his uncle. It was a Sunday evening and the restaurant
was nearly empty, yet they had selected a table in a back corner,
removed from other diners. I wondered whether this was
coincidence or a precaution against prying ears.
After chatting for a while, Jaime told me that Confessions had
made a lot of waves in Ecuador and that it was practically
impossible to purchase it there. "As soon as it arrives in
bookstores, someone
EMPIRE
buys up all the copies." He smiled wryly. "This also happened
to some of my books, including the one on Roldos's assassination,
which implicates the CIA, the Israel government, top Ecuadorian
army officials, and the Ecuadorian political right wing—all as accomplices." Like Roldos, Dr. Galarza had been a professor at the
University of Guayaquil and "a good friend of Jaime's." He said
that after being elected president Jaime had confided his fears of
assassination to him. Then he said he would tell me about an
event that I might find interesting.
"Jaime flew to a secret meeting with oil company executives
in Houston in May 1981. Several top government officials joined
him. He thought one of them would be especially helpful because
he previously had worked for the oil companies. Jaime figured
he'd make a good ally." Dr. Galarza shook his head sadly. "How
mistaken he was. In any case, that was it—just the Ecuadorians
and the oil men, who insisted on secrecy. No press, no
announcements. The Americans presented the Ecuadorians with
their offer. They knew that Jaime had promised to rein them in
during his campaign, but they demanded the same sort of deal
they had received previously in Ecuador and were getting in other
countries. Their companies would conduct initial explorations and
Ecuador would pay in dollars or crude.
"Jaime assured them that he did not mind paying a reasonable
price for services rendered in dollars, but would not consider
doing so in crude. T intend to build petrochemical complexes in
my country, so my people can benefit from the value added,' he
said. "We want to retain all our crude.' This infuriated the
executives. It was not the deal they had enjoyed with previous
administrations and was contrary to their global policies.
Discussions grew heated. According to what Jaime told me later,
the meeting turned ugly. Finally, he'd had enough. He got up and
walked out, expecting the other Ecuadorians to join him. They did
not.
"Our president, my friend Jaime, flew back to Quito and called
a meeting with his closest advisors. They told him they felt he
was in
a very precarious situation, that his life was in danger. But it
didn't deter him. He continued to speak out. He went on TV and
said he would nationalize foreign companies unless they
implemented plans to help Ecuador's people. He gave a speech at
Atahualpa Olympic Stadium, where he talked extensively about
the sovereign rights of a nation to take care of its people,
especially the poor. Not long after that, he and his wife boarded
their small plane and headed for another destination. They never
made it. They both died in that crash, on May 24, 1981, less than
a month after the secret Houston meeting. There is absolutely no
question that Jaime Roldos was assassinated."
The four of us sat in that Massachusetts restaurant without
speaking for several long moments. I had an image of Jaime
Roldos Aguilera on the day I first met him at a reception in Quito.
I had been deeply impressed by his vigor, charm, sense of humor,
and determination to pull Ecuador out of its position as one of the
most impoverished countries in the hemisphere. Finally, I turned
to Dr. Galarza and told him about my March meeting with Jaime's
daughter, Marta. I summarized some of her allegations, which
confirmed his own version of the assassination.
Dr. Galarza turned to his nephew. "Yes, isn't it amazing? In
our country, our police were kept away from the crash site where
our president died. U.S. authorities were allowed in, but not
Ecuadorian police investigators. Figure that one out."
I then mentioned that I had tried to contact Marta by e-mail
several times since our meeting. "I wanted to share with her what
I wrote about our conversation and see if she had anything to add,
but she never responded."
He laughed. "She won't either," he said. "Her uncle Leon,
Jaime's brother, is running for president and, since the time when
you talked with her, she has also decided to run for public office.
You know, after her father and mother died, she and her brother
looked to Leon as a sort of foster dad. All of them were
traumatized, shook up, scared—as well they might have been. A
lot has happened in
155
Ecuador during the months since you and your daughter
lunched with Marta. My country is in turmoil. Gutierrez was
replaced by his vice president, Palacio, and Palacio is a man of
contradictions. No one knows where anyone else stands. People
like Leon and Marta are frightened. They know that behind the
assassination of faime Roldos there are powerful global interests.
She's not going to talk with you about these things now."
28
Lessons from Latin America
I was invited to Bolivia in December 2006. Philippe Diaz and
Beth Portello of Cinema Libre Studios asked me to participate in
a documentary they were making about the roots of poverty. I saw
the trip as an opportunity to gain insights into how Bolivians felt
one year after Evo Morales took office. I had read many of the
president's speeches and interviews, but now I would have a
chance to listen to both his supporters and opponents.
I talked with shopkeepers, taxi drivers, waiters and restaurant
owners, landless peasants, ex-miners, organizers of strikes that
brought down President Sanchez, a well-known actress, Carla Ortiz, who was closely connected to indigenous activists, and one
man who had watched his brother die an agonizing death from a
soldier's bullet. I met on-camera with pro-Morales government
officials, disgruntled businessmen, and an ex-president, Jorge
"Tuto" Quiroga Ramirez, who now led the opposition against
Morales.
It became apparent that the new president faced a myriad of
challenges. Most members of the commercial and upper classes
were determined to quash his economic and social reforms. His
supporters, including the indigenous communities, expected a
quick reversal of policies whose roots reached back hundreds of
years. I had no doubt that, on top of all the local pressures,
Morales was also drawing threats and bribes from EHMs. He had
to know that the jackals were waiting in the wings.
One afternoon I sat in a large salon in the Presidential Palace
and chatted with Vice President Alvaro Garcia Linera. I had
learned that, although Morales presented the public face, the vice
president
EMPIRE
was the power behind the scenes; he was responsible for
turning rhetoric into policy.
The room could have been located in the Royal Palace of
Madrid. The ceiling was two stories high. The three distinct
sitting areas were each furnished with matching eighteenthcentury French Baroque chairs, couches, and Persian carpets.
Here I was, meeting with a man who had earned his reputation as
a guerrilla warrior and who had suffered through four years in
prison—in a hall designed for kings.
Garcia Linera's appearance reinforced the irony. Slight of
build, he wore pressed black slacks, a black shirt open at the
collar, and a tailored gray sports jacket. His elegant hands
appeared more suited to a piano's keyboard than a revolutionary's
rifle.
After discussing specific aspects of the administration's
policies, we moved into the topic of Bolivia's role as a model for
other countries. "Either everyone must be free or no one is free,"
the vice president declared. "For people in your country and mine
to have stability we need to make sure that everyone around the
world has stability." He described what he called "a post-capitalist
society" as one that sets for its primary goal a decent living for all
its citizens. "No longer should the state serve the rich and the big
corporations. It must serve all the people, including the very
poor."
In interview after interview during my days in Bolivia, I heard
people express the opinion that, given the political changes
sweeping the continent, things would never return to the way they
had been in the past. "I used to be ashamed of my Aymara
heritage," one woman told me. "Not anymore. Evo has made us
proud."
"We won't accept slavery again," her husband added. "Not
from Spanish hacienda owners—or U.S. corporations."
However, a darker side also emerged. Many of Morales's supporters fear that he has buckled to pressure from Washington and,
as a consequence, has not honored his campaign promises. "He's
no Chavez," was a frequent refrain. His opponents are equally
concerned that he is growing too cozy with the Venezuelan
president. They believe that Morales is allowing himself to be
used as a stepping stone for what they see as Chavez's ambitions
to assume leadership of the entire continent. "First Bolivia, then
Ecuador; after that Peru and Colombia," one confided. "Chavez
wants to control all the oil and gas in South America. He thinks
he's a modern-day Bolivar."
I celebrated the arrival of the New Year in the Presidential
Palace. Evo Morales strolled in shortly before midnight. He had
promised to welcome 2007 by holding a press conference to
outline some of his new programs. As he stepped before the
television cameras, I glanced around at that sumptuous building; I
looked at the members of the press—a woman from England's
The Economist magazine, a man from the United States
representing the Associated Press, and reporters from many Latin
American countries. Morales appeared to be exhausted. I
wondered what he was feeling, standing there alone, this man
who had risen from such humble beginnings and now was making
news across the entire planet. One thing seemed certain: His
presidency would not be an easy one.
Flying from La Paz back to Miami on the first day of 2007, I
thought about my experience in Guatemala with Pepe Jaramillo in
1992. It had turned out to be much more significant than I could
possibly have realized at the time. I had traveled there as the
representative of a U.S. corporation, to explore the prospects of
exploiting Mayan resources, but I was also working closely in
those days with a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping the
Mayas protect their lands and sustain their culture. I did not fully
appreciate my dual role; nor did I understand the contradictions in
my life— contradictions that reflected those of my country.
Now, on this flight from Bolivia, like then, I was returning to a
culture that professes to respect human rights and yet enjoys a
materialism that is built on exploiting workers in other lands. I
live in a nation that has less than 5 percent of the world's
population, but manages to consume over 25 percent of its
resources, a society that
EMPIRE
espouses ecological principles and produces more than 30
percent of the planet's worst pollution. My plane was burning fuel
that had been drained from someone else's country. Some of my
clothes had been manufactured in sweatshops.
My life was a perfect example of the picture that old man
painted for me when I arrived in Shuar territory with Ehud
Sperling in 1991. "Your people dreamed of huge factories, tall
buildings, as many cars as there are raindrops in this river," he
said. "Now you begin to see that your dream is a nightmare."
In 1992 Pepe feared the indigenous people. That decade and
the next would prove that his fears were justified. The old man in
the rainforest had given me a glimpse of the future when I asked
him how I might help make things better. "That's simple," he had
replied. "All you have to do is change the dream . , . You need
only plant a different seed, teach your children to dream new
dreams."
The Latin Americans have taken that idea seriously. Led by
indigenous people, the urban poor, and rural campesinos, they
changed the dream through both words and actions. They
organized movements to protect their cultures and their lands.
They threw out the old dictators and voted in presidents who
demanded that local resources be used to benefit local people.
And in an odd sort of way they protected us in the United States
from ourselves. By defying the corporatocracy, they forced us to
look at what we are doing in the world. They set an example for
us and others to follow.
The Latins did something else too. Not south of the Rio
Grande, but right here in the United States. While most of us
complained about cuts in budgets for pensions, education, Social
Security, and Medicare, the mounting costs of the Iraq War, and
the government's betrayals in New Orleans, they took to the
streets to protest what they saw as unfair immigration laws. We
sat in our homes, bemoaned the state of government, flicked on
the TV, and did nothing; they exercised the rights granted to them
by our Constitution. They spoke out and marched on
Washington, D.C. Whether you supported their cause or not, you
had to take notice, to respect their courage and their willingness to
act.
People in the Middle East were also taking action. However,
their approach to dealing with the empire-building sprouted from
a historical perspective that is radically different from that in
Latin America.
PART 3:
THE MIDDLE
EAST
29
A Bankrupt United States of America
Petroleum distinguished itself as history's all-time most
valuable resource during the first half of the twentieth century. It
became the driving force behind modernization. Procuring
reliable supplies formed the cornerstone of foreign policies.
Japan's petroleum obsession was a major factor in the decision to
attack Pearl Harbor. World War II elevated oil to even higher
status. It fueled tanks, airplanes, and ships; a combatant country
without oil was doomed.
Oil also evolved into the single most powerful tool of the
corporate -cracy.
After peace was declared, U.S. oil company executives
formulated a plan that would change the course of history. They
decided that it was in their best interests (and therefore the
country's!) to convince the president and congress to save U.S.
reserves for future wars and other emergencies. Why drain
domestic oil fields when those of other continents could be
exploited? In collaboration with U.K. and European companies,
they persuaded governments to ^rant them tax breaks and other
incentives they claimed were required to ensure domination of
global petroleum supplies.
This decision—which has been endorsed by every president
and congress since—led to policies that have redefined national
borders, created kingdoms, and brought down governments. Like
gold, oil turned into a symbol of power and the basis for valuing
currencies; unlike gold, it is essential to modern technologies—to
the plastics, chemical, and computer businesses.
At first, it appeared that the oil executives' plan would heap
wealth on Third World oil-producing countries. However,
following in gold's footsteps, oil became an albatross. Petroleumrich countries
EMPIRE
were similar to prospectors in the boomtowns of the Old West;
as soon as they filed claims, they became the targets of scoundrels
and robber barons.
At roughly the same time that oil was emerging as the key to
the modern age, the Soviet Union surfaced as Public Enemy #1.
Historians recognize that empire builders require external threats;
the U.S.S.R. conveniently played this role for the United States.
Moscow's nuclear arsenal gave credence to the corporatocracy's
claims that the Cold War demanded novel approaches to
international diplomacy.
It is not surprising that the first real Cold War showdown over
oil occurred in that part of the world containing the most oil, the
Middle East. Demanding that his people share in petroleum
profits from their lands, the democratically elected and highly
popular Iranian prime minister Mohammed Mossadegh (TIME
magazine's man of the year in 1951) nationalized a British
petroleum company's assets. An outraged England sought the help
of her World War II ally, the United States. Both countries feared
that military intervention would provoke the Soviets into pulling
the nuclear trigger. Instead of the marines, Washington dispatched
CIA agent Kermit Roosevelt Jr. (Theodore's grandson). With a
few million dollars, Roosevelt organized violent demonstrations
that eventually overthrew Mossadegh; the CIA replaced this
democratically elected leader with Mohammad Reza Pahlavi (the
"Shah"), a despotic friend of Big Oil.
As discussed in Confessions, Roosevelt's success generated a
whole new profession, the one I followed, that of EHMs. The lessons of Iran were clear: An empire could be built without the risks
of war and at far less expense. The CIA's tactics could be applied
wherever resources existed that the corporatocracy wanted. There
was only one problem. Kermit Roosevelt was a CIA employee.
Had he been caught, the consequences would have been dire. The
decision was made to replace government operatives with agents
from the private sector. One of the companies enlisted was mine,
MAIN.
Very soon we EHMs discovered that we did not need to wait
for
166A BANKRUPT UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
countries to nationalize oil fields as an excuse to manipulate
their politics. We turned the World Bank, the IMF, and other
"multinational" institutions into colonizing tools. We negotiated
lucrative deals for U.S. corporations, established "free" trade
agreements that blatantly served our exporters at the expense of
those in the Third World, and burdened other countries with
unmanageable debts. In effect, we created surrogate governments
that appeared to represent their people but in reality were our
servants. Some of the earliest examples: Iran, Jordan, Saudi
Arabia, Kuwait, Egypt, and Israel.
In tandem with EHM efforts to dominate global politics, the
corpo-ratocracy launched campaigns to increase oil consumption.
Like drug dealers, public relations experts fanned across the
planet, encouraging people to buy goods sold by corporatocracy
organizations—often petroleum-based and produced in Third
World sweatshops, under appalling conditions.
During the decades after the Iranian coup, economists
frequently cited examples of rapid economic growth as proof that
poverty was declining. However, as we saw in Asia, the statistics
deceived. In addition to ignoring social and environmental
degradation, the statistics failed to address long-term problems.
A good example of these "unintended consequences" is
provided by events resulting from Roosevelt's Iranian adventure.
The coup may have brought an oil-friendly dictator to power, but
it also institu-tionalized anti-American movements in the Middle
East. Iranians never forgave the United States for overthrowing
their popular, democratically elected prime minister. Nor have
people in neighbor-ing countries. Scholars of political history
wonder what might have happened had Washington supported
Mossadegh and encouraged him to apply oil revenues toward
helping Iran's people pull themselves out of poverty. Many
conclude that this would have encouraged other countries to
pursue democratic approaches and might have prevented the
terrible violence that has plagued the region ever since. Instead,
the United States served notice that it was not a (ountry to be
trusted, not the defender of democracy we portrayed
EMPIRE
ourselves to be, and that our aim was not to help the Third
World. We simply wanted to control resources.
The United States experienced severe problems at home
during this same period. The process of expanding the
corporatocracy's power base plunged our nation deep in.to debt.
Increasingly, the factories that produced our products, as well as
the oil fields, were located in other countries. Foreign creditors
demanded payments in gold. The Nixon administration responded
in 1971 by revoking the gold standard.
Now Washington was confronted with a new dilemma. If our
creditors turned to other currencies, the corporatocracy could be
forced to pay their loans off at the value they had held relative to
gold when those debts were incurred. This would be calamitous,
because corporatocracy coffers no longer contained funds
sufficient to buy down the debt. The lone sentinel barring the
bankruptcy door was the U.S. Mint, with its capacity to print
dollars and dictate their value. It was imperative that the world
continue accepting dollars as the standard currency.
In the Prologue of this book I summarized the solution as revolving around Saudi Arabia. That is the short version. The
longer story includes two other unwitting allies who came to
Washington's rescue—both of them in the Middle East.
168
30
King Dollar
"What's going to happen to the dollar?" MAIN president Jake
Dauber asked rhetorically, not long after that momentous 1971
decision to abandon the gold standard. "In the end, I suspect its
value will be determined by oil."
I had been invited to join the Daubers for dinner at the Hotel
Intercontinental Indonesia, a stopover for them on their way to the
Middle East.
"Nixon's got a pretty smart team in Kissinger, Shultz, and
Cheney." Jake squeezed his wife's hand and looked into her eyes.
"I anticipate the day when you and I'll sit back on our sofa and say
we were part of this great adventure. The U.S. is launching a new
period in world history and we've got front-row seats."
Jake did not live to see the day he had hoped to share with his
wife. He died not long after that trip—and was replaced as
MAIN'S president by his protege, Bruno Zambotti. However, his
analysis of the dollar's future turned out to be accurate. Nixon's
team was not merely smart; it was cunning.
Washington's first ally in the struggle to defend the
sovereignty of the dollar was Israel. Most people, including the
majority of Israelis, believed that Tel Aviv's decision to launch
preemptive attacks against Egyptian, Syrian, and Jordanian troops
along its borders in what came to be known as the Six-Day War
of 1967 was driven by Israel's determination to protect its borders.
Territorial expansion was the most obvious outcome; by the end
of that bloody week, Israel had quadrupled its land holdings, at
the expense of people living in East Jerusalem, parts of the West
Bank, Egypt's Sinai, and
EMPIRE
Syria's Golan Heights. However, the Six-Day War served
another purpose.
Arabs were humiliated and infuriated by the loss of their
territories. Much of their anger was aimed at the United States;
they knew that Israel could never have succeeded without
American financial and political support, as well as the not-soveiled threat that our troops were standing by in the unlikely event
that Israel needed them. Few Arabs understood that Washington
had motives that were far more selfish than defending the Jewish
homeland, or that the White House would turn Arab anger to its
advantage.
Nixon's second, and wholly unsuspecting, ally was the entire
Islamic Middle East. In response to the Six-Day War of 1967,
Egypt and Syria simultaneously attacked Israel on October 6,
1973 (Yom Kippur, the holiest of Jewish holidays). Knowing that
strategically he was on shaky ground, Egypt's President Anwar
Sadat pressured Saudi Arabia's King Faisal to strike against the
United States (and therefore Israel) in a different way—by
employing what Sadat referred to as "the oil weapon." On
October 16, Saudi Arabia and four other Arab states in the Persian
Gulf announced a 70 percent increase in the posted price of oil;
Iran (which is Muslim but not Arab) in an act of Islamic solidarity
joined them. During the ensuing days, Arab oil ministers,
agreeing that the United States should be punished for its proIsrael stance, unanimously backed the idea of an oil embargo.
It was a classic game of international chess. President Nixon
asked Congress for $2.2 billion in aid to Israel on October 19. The
next day, led by Saudi Arabia, Arab oil producers imposed a total
embargo on oil shipments to the United States. At the time, few
people perceived the cunning behind Washington's move, or the
fact that it was driven by a determination to shore up a weakened
dollar.
The impact was immense. The selling price of Saudi oil leaped
to new records; by January 1, 1974, it had soared to nearly seven
times its price four years earlier. The media warned that the U.S.
economy was on the verge of collapse. Long lines of cars formed
at gas stations across the nation, while economists expressed fears
of
170KING DOLLAR
the possibility of another 1929-style depression. Protecting our
oil supplies had been a priority; suddenly, it became an obsession.
We know now that the corporatocracy played an active role in
driving oil prices to these record highs. Although business and
political leaders, including oil executives, feigned outrage, they
were the puppet masters pulling the strings. Nixon and his
advisors realized that the $2.2 billion aid package to Israel would
force the Arabs into taking drastic actions. By supporting Israel,
the administration engineered a situation that generated what was
the craftiest and most significant EHM deal of the twentieth
century.
The U.S. Treasury Department contacted MAIN and other
firms with proven records as corporatocracy henchmen. Our
assignment was twofold: to formulate a strategy to ensure that
OPEC would funnel the billions of dollars we spent on oil back to
U.S. companies and to establish a new "oil standard" that would
replace the former "gold standard." We EHMs knew that the key
to any such plan was Saudi Arabia; because it possessed more oil
than any other country, it controlled OPEC; the Saudi "royal"
family was corrupt and highly vulnerable. Like other "kings" in
the Middle East, t he Sauds understood the politics of colonialism.
Royalty had been bestowed on the House of Saud by the British.
Details behind the strategy I helped engineer—the Saudi
Arabian Money-laundering Affair (SAMA)—are provided in
Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. In summary, as far as the
media was concerned, the House of Saud agreed to three
important conditions; it would: 1) invest a large portion of its
petrodollars in U.S. government securities; 2) allow the U.S.
Treasury Department to use the trillions of dollars in interest from
these securities to hire U.S. corporations to westernize Saudi
Arabia; and 3) maintain the price of oil within limits acceptable to
the corporatocracy. For its part, the U.S. government promised to
keep the Saud family in power.
There was an additional agreement, one that made few
headlines but was crucial to the corporatocracy's need to maintain
the dollar
EMPIRE
as the standard global currency. Saudi Arabia committed to
trading oil exclusively in U.S. dollars. With the scratch of a pen,
the dollar's sovereignty was reestablished. Oil replaced gold as the
measure of a currency's value.
As I mentioned in the Prologue, a side benefit—one
appreciated only by the most savvy economists—also allowed
Washington to continue imposing a hidden tax on every foreign
creditor. Because the dollar reigned supreme, we bought their
goods and services on credit. By the time they used that credit to
purchase oil (or something else) from our companies, the value of
their funds had diminished, due to inflation; the difference
between these amounts was cash-in-the-pocket for the
corporatocracy—a tax without the need for tax collectors.
Jake Dauber's prediction that the dollar's value would be
determined by oil proved correct. When Tel Aviv and
Washington drove the Arab world into a corner, Arabs had little
choice but to strike back, in the Yom Kippur War and through the
OPEC embargo. This propelled the U.S. Treasury Department
into action. EHMs were enlisted to forge a deal with Saudi Arabia
that wed the dollar to oil. The dollar was crowned king, and has
reigned supreme ever since.
SAMA changed geopolitics. It helped bring down the
U.S.S.R., established the United States as an unchallenged
superpower, and angered Osama bin Laden, the Saudi millionaire
who would mastermind 9/11.
As I look back at it, I am amazed by the gall we had in those
days. I often think about the role fate plays in our lives—fate and
the way we react to it. I personally could never have taken on an
assignment as complex as SAMA without the training I had
received a few years earlier in Lebanon.
172
31
Manipulating Governments
During my first assignment in Indonesia, I showed my bosses
that I was willing to create the inflated economic forecasts they
desired. As a reward, they promoted me to chief economist (even
though I held only a B.S. in Business Administration and at the
time was the company's sole economist), gave me a raise, and
sent me to the Middle East.
I had already written reports on Iran, Kuwait, and Saudi
Arabia, but my research had been conducted at libraries and
through interviews with people from those countries working for
us in Boston. This first trip was a short one to get to know Iran
and prepare a more in-depth analysis of its energy sector. Charlie
Illingworth, who had been my project manager in Indonesia,
suggested that I stop over for a couple of days in Beirut. At that
time, the city's reputation as a playground was still intact. It
would be, he told me, an ideal place to relax, catch up on the time
zone changes, and familiarize myself with Middle Eastern culture.
He knew someone at the embassy there who would show me
around.
Lebanon had enjoyed a golden age following the end of World
War II. Agriculture and small-scale industry flourished. Beirut
developed into a wealthy, cosmopolitan city, the center of Middle
Eastern banking and trade. As I read about the country prior to my
departure date, I was intrigued to find frequent comparisons to
both Switzerland and Paris. I was amazed to learn that ski resorts
dotted the mountains outside Beirut, a Mediterranean city I had
visualized as sitting on the edge of a desert. And that the cabarets
.md art galleries rivaled those of Paris.
I also read about Lebanon's shadow side; it stretched back into
EMPIRE
history and seemed to turn darker with each passing moment.
Tensions between religious factions had smoldered for centuries.
The coastal regions were ruled by Maronite Christians. The Druze
sect of Islam dominated the southern mountains, while orthodox
Sunnis governed the fertile Bekaa Valley. Most of the Maronites
were Syrian, a fact that created additional tensions among Arab
Muslims. Despite these specific characteristics, I discovered that
Lebanon was a sort of microcosm for the Middle East.
Europe had coveted Lebanon since the time of the Crusades.
Attempts to colonize it continued through the centuries. Claiming
a mandate to protect Christian communities, French troops
invaded in the late 1700s. Paris assumed the patronizing role
characteristic of imperial powers and dispatched its soldiers several times during the 1800s. In 1926, France formed the Lebanese
Republic, which was administered under the French Mandate of
Syria. In 1940 the French rulers in Beirut declared allegiance to
the Nazi-controlled Vichy government. With France soon occupied by Germany, the Vichy authorities in 1941 allowed Germany
to move aircraft and supplies through Syria to Iraq, where they
were used against British forces. The United Kingdom, fearing
that Nazi Germany would gain full control of Lebanon and Syria
by pressuring the weak Vichy government, sent its army into
Syria and Lebanon.
Nationalistic fervor swept many countries during World War
II. Lebanon gained full independence on January 1, 1944. A
National Covenant accepted by the two most prominent Christian
and Muslim leaders, Bishara al-Khuri and Riyad el Sulh,
apportioned political power among the nation's various
communities. Drawing on the 1932 census that calculated
Christians at 54 percent of the population, it mandated that the
president would be a member of the majority, the Maronite
Christians, while the less powerful prime minister would come
from the Sunni population and the speaker of the legislature
would be Shi'a; the commander of the army would be a Maronite.
Many Arabs, feeling that the twelve-year-old census
174MANIPULATING GOVERNMENTS
was archaic and that Muslims in fact outnumbered Christians,
were outraged at this arrangement that tipped the scales in favor
of the Christians in Lebanon—and the West in general.
Arabs also suspected that newly created Israel was not all that
it appeared to be. The only country ever mandated by the U.N.
and a place that Jews called their "promised land," Israel was
offered as a sanctuary after the horrors of Hitler. The Arabs, like
Americans and Europeans, were told that the atrocities committed
against the Jews necessitated the creation of such a state. The
suffering of the Jewish people, the traumas of their lives under
fascism, were indisputable. There could be no question that the
world owed them something better. But in order for this to
happen, millions of Palestinians were told they had to give up
their homes. Turned overnight into refugees, they flooded into
Lebanon and every other Middle Eastern country.
The Palestinian influx confirmed that the 1932 census was
irrelevant; there could be no doubt that Muslims now
outnumbered Christians in Lebanon. The realization that the
National Covenant was being used as a political weapon was
further proof for Muslins that there was a second, more sinister
purpose behind the creation of Israel, that it was a servant of
empire, an armed outpost for the victors of World War II,
designed to control Middle Eastern oil. Lebanon, they suspected,
was being groomed to support Israel and its allies; the Christian
leadership established by the National Covenant was part of a
sinister plot.
Lebanese Arab resentment erupted into a Muslim rebellion in
1958. U.S. politicians blamed "communist terrorists." Washington
accused Moscow of fomenting this uprising, although it was
backed by Syria more than the U.S.S.R. President Eisenhower
sent in the marines. U.S. forces occupied Lebanon for only a brief
period, from May until October, but their presence confirmed
Arab suspicions that Washington was determined to keep the
Christians in power. The U.S. president's willingness to interfere
militarily had a profound long-term impact on Muslims
throughout the region.
EMPIRE
Lebanon was also incensed by Washington's aggressive
interference in nearby Iraq. During the late 1950s and early 1960s
the popular Iraqi president Abdul Karim Qasim grew increasingly
defiant toward the United States and the United Kingdom. He
demanded that foreign oil companies share the profits they reaped
from Iraqi oil with his people and threatened to nationalize them
if they did not comply. When EHM efforts failed to bring Qasim
around, the CIA hired an assassination team that included a young
man who had not yet completed his schooling: Saddam Hussein.
The team opened fire on Qasim's car. They riddled it with bullets,
but only managed to wound him. Saddam was shot in the leg and
fled to Syria. In 1963, President Kennedy made a fateful decision;
he ordered the CIA to join MI6 (British intelligence) on a mission
to accomplish what the assassins had failed to do. They executed
Qasim by firing squad on Iraqi television. After that, an estimated
five thousand people were rounded up, accused of communism,
and executed. Within a few years Saddam was brought back and
installed as head of national security; his second cousin became
president.34
During this same period the demographics in Lebanon were
changing radically. Muslim populations expanded faster than the
Christian. In the late 1960s, they demanded revisions in the
National Covenant. However, Maronites refused, continuing to
dominate the government. The threat that Washington would send
in troops once again to support the Christians was underscored
when the United States reinstated the military draft and built up
its armed forces around the world.
Geopolitics also changed. In the 1967 Six-Day War, Israel
seized parts of Jerusalem, Syria, and Egypt. The Arab world was
outraged. Support for Palestinian militants grew. The PLO
(Palestine Liberation Organization) used refugee camps in
southern Lebanon to stage attacks on Israel.
By the time I headed for Beirut in 1973, the last semblance of
stability was unraveling. Yet, like most Americans who did not
speak Arabic and therefore communicated only with or through
176MANIPULATING GOVERNMENTS
men educated in American or British schools and whose
success depended on our continued presence in their country, I
was extremely naive. I could read about the dark history of places
like Lebanon; I understood that there were deep-seated
antagonisms between Arabs, Christians, and Jews; but I had been
trained to believe that capitalism would work miracles. I had
recently been promoted. I was flying first class, staying in the best
hotels, and dining at the finest restaurants—frequently
accompanied by beautiful women. Along with all the other U.S.
businessmen, consultants, and government officials, and the
"experts" at the World Bank and the IMF, I was confident that we
were making great strides toward democracy and progress
throughout the Middle East.
Lebanon would open my eyes to a different reality.
177
32
Lebanon: "Stark Raving Mad
A chauffeur drove me from the Beirut airport to the luxurious
Phoenician Intercontinental. A young bellman greeted me
enthusiastically, took my bag, and ushered me into the lobby. As I
turned from the reservation desk, I crashed into another man. I
stepped back and apologized, shocked by a familiar face that gave
me a leering smile and the unforgettable voice that muttered, "It's
OK."
The bellman grabbed my arm and hustled me away, then
stopped. "Yes, Marlon Brando is your neighbor tonight," he said.
He shook his head and added. "He's got a terrible temper. Please
don't ask for his autograph."
I could not help gawking as we headed for the elevator.
Brando looked older than the last time I had seen him in a movie,
but there was no doubt that he was indeed the actor I had long admired for his performances in On the Waterfront and A Streetcar
Named Desire. I had read about his most recent film, Burn!—a
performance he claimed was his best yet. I took it as a good omen
that I had encountered—literally—the great actor and infamous
rebel on this, my first trip to the Middle East. Years later when I
finally saw Burn! I was deeply amused by the irony: Brando
played the precursor of an EHM in this groundbreaking film
about empire building.
The next morning, Charlie Illingworth's friend picked me up
in his car. He introduced himself as "Smiley," although I could
never quite figure out why since he was not by nature a jovial
person and seldom exhibited the expression for which he
apparently was named. As it turned out, he did not work for the
embassy, but rather for the United States Agency for International
Development. He had spent
178LEBANON: "STARK RAVING MAD"
his entire professional life with USAID and now, approaching
retirement, had requested Lebanon as his final assignment; he had
grown up there, the son of missionaries, and had wanted to retire
to the land of his youth. Now, however, he had changed his mind.
"Too much turmoil," he told me as we drove along a
spectacular stretch of the Mediterranean. "These damn Muslims
are getting out of hand. Simply can't be trusted. No matter what
the deal we strike with them, they never keep their end of it."
I asked him to show me some of the Palestinian refugee camps
I had heard so much about. At first reluctant, he eventually agreed
to drive me by one of them. Despite my recent experiences in
Indonesia, I was shocked by the poverty and degradation. The
camp consisted of a mass of hovels crowded together and
surrounded by fences. I wondered aloud how the people living
there maintained their sanity.
"They don't," Smiley assured me. "They're stark raving mad.
The lot of them."
I asked him about water, sewage, and other basic services.
He guffawed. "All you have to do is open the window and
take a whiff to know that 'sanitation' ain't in their vocabulary." He
gave me the closest thing I had seen to a grin, and pointed.
"Another planet from where you and I live." His eyes returned to
the road ahead. "These people are pigs. Consider this: A little
over a year ago the Lebanese government and the PLO signed
something called the Cairo Agreement. It grants residency, labor
rights, and autonomy to Palestinians. Since then the Lebanese
government's been trying to clean things up." He sighed. "But
typical of Arab Muslims, these Palestinians just can't accept a
good thing. The PLO stepped up its attacks and is striking deals
with the Lebanese Communists. Really pissing off the
government here, as well as yours truly, us guys from the good
ole US of A. There's going to be retaliation. No question about it.
These A-rabs are about to pay the price for their insanity."
That day disturbed me deeply. As a Peace Corps volunteer in
the
EMPIRE
Ecuadorian jungle, I had lived like a campesino and had been
disgusted by the elegant lives of U.S. embassy and USAID
people—by their houses, cars, clothes, and the obvious gap
between them and the majority of Ecuadorians. But I had never
heard any of them talk like Smiley. I was stunned by his bitterness
and overt prejudices and by his willingness to share them with a
stranger like me. He derided Islam, contrasting what he referred
to as "a sword-wielding prophet" with Christianity's "prince of
peace." I was tempted to mention the role the Catholic Church has
played in fomenting wars, to compare the Arab Saladin's
compassion for captured Crusaders with the slaughter of Muslim
prisoners by European knights. However, I was intimidated by
him; I was the new guy on the block. I held my tongue. I tried to
write his diatribes off as acrimony. I supposed that at this point in
his life he did not care what I or anyone else thought about him.
Retirement was just around the corner. The place he had dreamed
about living in had disappointed him. Like many bitter people, he
was taking his frustrations out on the nearest, most defenseless
target, the Palestinians.
Smiley dropped me off at my hotel. I offered to buy him
dinner, but he said he had other commitments. When we shook
hands, he held onto mine. "I hope," he said, "that you won't take
me wrong. I'm not a pessimist. I know in the end we will win. We
have to. Islam is a false religion. Lacks a conscience, a soul.
Imagine if your equivalent to Christ lopped peoples' heads off!
What kind of a religion is that?"
Over dinner alone at the Phoenician, I thought about that last
comment. My time in Beirut convinced me that a clash in
cultures— especially around religion—was the overt cause of
many of the problems in the Middle East, although not necessarily
the root cause. I knew that the Crusades had been organized by
the Church as a war against what it called "the Satanic forces of
Islam"; however, I had also read that Europe, suffering from
strife, high unemployment, and the Plague, was ripe for rebellion
and that the aristocracy used the Crusades to refocus that anger
and conquer
180LEBANON: "STARK RAVING MAD"
new lands. I was struck by the contrast between Smiley's view
of Islam and what I had heard in Indonesia just a few months
earlier.
Living in the West Javanese mountain city of Bandung I
befriended a young man whose mother managed the guesthouse
where I and the rest of the MAIN team were staying. As described
in Confessions, Rasy introduced me to a number of his university
friends. One night they accompanied me to a dalang, a traditional
Javanese puppet show. A puppet of Richard Nixon and another I
took to be Henry Kissinger stood next to a map of the Middle and
Far East; each of the countries hung from a hook over its
respective position. Nixon lifted countries off their hooks and
thrust them into his mouth. Every time he picked up a Middle
Eastern country, he tasted it and shouted something that was
translated as, "Bitter! Rubbish. We don't need any more of this!"
then he tossed it into a bucket held by Henry Kissinger.
After the show, the students and I retired to a local
coffeehouse. They explained to me that in the opinion of many
Indonesians the United States was waging an anti-Islamic war.
They informed me that back in the fifties the British historian
Arnold Toynbee had predicted that the real war in the next
century would not be between Communists and capitalists, but
between Christians and Muslims.
A young English major at the university patiently described
their view. "The West," she said, "especially its leader, the U.S.,
is determined to take control of all the world, to become the
greatest empire in history. It has already gotten very close to
succeeding. The Soviet Union currently stands in its way, but the
Soviets will not endure. They have no religion, no faith, no
substance behind their ideology. History demonstrates that faith—
soul, a belief in higher powers—is essential. We Muslims have it.
We have it more than anyone else in the world, even more than
the Christians. So we wait. We grow strong."
She looked me in the eyes. "Stop being so greedy, and so
selfish. Realize that there is more to the world than your big
houses and
EMPIRE
fancy stores. People are starving and you worry about oil for
your cars. Babies are dying of thirst and you search the fashion
pages for the latest styles. Nations like ours are drowning in
poverty, but your people don't even hear our cries for help. You
shut your ears to the voices of those who try to tell you these
things. You label them radicals or Communists. You must open
your hearts to the poor and downtrodden, instead of driving them
further into poverty and servitude. There's not much time left. If
you don't change, you're doomed."
Recalling that evening and my more recent day with Smiley, I
wondered if there was any hope for a world where religion had
become the basis for exploitation. How could so many people be
taught to look at religion so differently? How could the messages
of Muhammad and Christ both be used to justify war?
The implications of those questions continued to haunt me.
That first visit to the Middle East gave me a new perspective on
religion's importance in international politics. It was in Egypt,
however, that I personally experienced the power of religion as an
agent of hatred.
182
33
USAID Speaks
"The pyramids of Egypt symbolize the role that country must
play if we're to win the hearts and minds of the Arabs," MAIN'S
enigmatic, octogenarian chairman and CEO Mac Hall told a
group of us who had assembled for lunch at the posh Engineers
Club on the top floor of the Prudential Tower, Boston's tallest
building and the home of MAIN'S executive offices. "Egypt will
form the base, large and firm. Then we will pile them up, one
country after the next."
It was 1974, a pivotal moment in Egypt's long history. MAIN
and our corporatocracy clients were determined to take advantage
of this opportunity. A door opened when we won a contract to
complete a major study in Alexandria. A USAID officer had
flown up from Washington for a luncheon briefing on the
country's struggles and the goals of our work there.
His cropped hair, immaculately trimmed mustache, starched
shirt, gray suit, blue necktie accentuated with a slash of red, and
two lapel pins—one of the U.S. flag, the other, a black hand
clasping a white one—accentuated his role as a government
representative, one of the new breed of colonizer-posing-asaltruist. He sat very stiffly at the table and, as he talked,
frequently shot deferential glances at Mac Hall. I realized that he
came to us in several guises: that of an expert on Egypt, the man
who would evaluate our study and approve payment of our fees,
and also as a potential employee, a Washington bureaucrat always
on the lookout for a better job or lucrative retirement consultancy.
While he described his experiences in the Middle East, he
wove Egypt's history into his monologue, emphasizing that
centuries of foreign domination had laid the foundation for postWorld War II
EMPIRE
events. "The Muslim Brotherhood," he said, spitting out the
words as though they stung his tongue, "became very influential.
They demanded that Egypt break off ties with Europe. The
Brethren joined forces with the Society of Free Officers, a
revolutionary group of Egyptian army brass, to oppose King
Farouk—hated because he was an Albanian whose family gained
prominence in Egypt under the Ottoman Empire and was later
supported by the British—and us. This coalition toppled Farouk,
much to our chagrin. Well, you know who came next. Lieutenant
Colonel Gamal Abdel Nasser was sworn in as premier in 1954
and then president in 1956."
In what the USAID man described as "a reckless gamble,"
Nasser declared his independence from the Western powers. "He
negotiated deals to buy Soviet weapons. Of course we and the
Brits withdrew our offers to build a dam at Aswan. It infuriated
Nasser. So he nationalized the Suez Canal. Israel responded in
1956 by invading the Sinai Peninsula. You can bet we had
something to do with that, but not officially. England and France
both claimed the canal as essential to their security. They bombed
Egyptian positions and sent in their armies. The canal was shut
down."
The USAID man frowned. "We simply couldn't tolerate that.
The world clamored for U.S. goods and Middle Eastern oil. The
long haul around Africa was way too costly. A bunch of corporate
executives visited the White House. Ike heard them. The general
took command." He grinned at Hall. "A cease-fire was
proclaimed in November 1956, and a U.N. peacekeeping force
arrived to patrol the borders between Egypt and Israel." He
paused to take a sip of water and, I supposed, allow the rest of us
to ponder the levity of his words. "In essence," he continued,
"Uncle Sam forced Israel, Britain, and France to pull out. Only a
little over a year earlier, we'd returned sanity to Iran by deposing
that Commie Mossadegh and reinstating our friend the shah.
Now, we showed the Arabs we would stand behind them in
Egypt. Washington became the undisputed dominant power in the
region."
The review that afternoon in a private club atop the Prudential
184USAID SPEAKS
Tower strengthened my growing cynicism as well as my
desire to enjoy the fruits accruing to this dominant power I called
home. As I listened, it seemed evident that the "triumphs" in Iran
and Egypt had established the supremacy of the corporatocracy
and that this government employee was paid to brag about it.
Those corporate executives, who just happened to control the
defense industry along with most of the rest of the American
economy, had forced the president of the United States to
acquiesce to their demands. Now, less than two decades later, a
government agency was spinning its revised view of history into
its official talks. I was amazed at the cunning of these people and
I felt both privileged and guilty to be included in this scheme for
building what I was coming to understand was nothing less than
the world's first secret empire.
I glanced out the window at the Charles River far below;
across it in the distance, the sun reflected off the ivy-laced
buildings of Harvard, which had undoubtedly educated at least
several of those executives who visited the White House that day.
I recalled Eisenhower's speech about the military-industrial
complex. It seemed extremely ironic that a career military officer
and supreme commander of Allied forces during World War II
was the first to publicly expose the existence of what today we
refer to as the corporatocracy. He had watched those executives
gain influence over U.S. foreign policy during the Korean War.
He had witnessed how they manipulated the press and Congress
and employed the communist threat as a justification for whittling
away at civil liberties. He had stood by as they sold technologies
to the military for delivering missile-guided nuclear warheads to
distant lands. But in Egypt, during the Suez crisis, he must have
begun to truly fear the pact between the government, military, and
corporations. He had acquiesced, yes. But deep inside, he must
have seethed. A man trained to discipline himself, he had, I
guessed, bided his time, waiting until his term as president was
over. Then he dropped his own bomb. Like many good antiVietnam War protesters in the late 1960s I had hung a framed
copy of Ike's January 17,1961, address—his farewell speech—
over my desk.
EMPIRE
Eisenhower described his country as one whose economy had
been built on peaceful endeavors. "Until the latest of our world
conflicts," he said, "the United States had no armaments industry.
American makers of plowshares could, with time and as required,
make swords as well." Then he issued a warning:
In the councils of government, we must guard against the
acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought,
by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous
rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.
We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our
liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for
granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the
proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of
defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and
liberty may prosper together.
"Nasser was a hothead." The USAID officer's voice brought
my attention back to the Engineers Club. "He was a hothead who
thought he could outsmart us. So he foolishly continued to court
the Soviet Union. He got them to build the Aswan High Dam.
You can only imagine how your friend"—he turned to Mac
Hall—"Mr. Bechtel felt about that."
Hall chortled. "Not just Bechtel—the whole lot of us,
everyone in the engineering business."
"Right."
"But Bechtel had the connections, the president's ear." Hall
glanced around the table. "Very good at kissing ass."
This brought laughter.
The USAID man took another sip of water before continuing.
"Meanwhile the Muslim Brotherhood was back in play. They felt
betrayed by Nasser's partnership with atheistic Communists and
his refusal to create an Islamic government. They claimed all this
ran counter to an agreement they made when they joined forces
with the Society of Free Officers to overthrow Farouk. They
wanted
186USAID SPEAKS
their president to adopt the Koran as the basis for their
constitution. When he refused, they sent in one of their hit teams
to assassinate him. But they botched the job and it backfired.
Nasser's popularity grew. He banned the Brotherhood, sentenced
four thousand of its members to prison camps, and had the
ringleaders executed. Those who escaped went underground.
Some attempted to infiltrate labor unions, schools, and even the
military. Many left the country, heading for Jordan, Saudi Arabia,
Sudan, Syria, and—as you know— Kuwait, where you guys have
a major electrification project. Right?" He nodded at Hall. "Well,
over the years they've evolved into one of the most influential
pro-Islamic forces in the world. Their goal is to drive us—
everyone from the West, all the Christian cultures—out of the
Middle East, overthrow secular leaders, like those in Egypt and
Iran, and replace them with mullahs."
I was tempted to ask him about the rumors I had heard that,
despite their stated goals and because they opposed communism,
the Brethren received CIA funding and training. But I knew that
he could only answer such a question one way and that asking it
might cost me dearly, especially under these circumstances.
"Any questions?" He glanced around. "Just about done. The
sixties were tumultuous for Egypt. Nasser instituted economic
reforms, Marxism, including a mandate that the government own
at least 51 percent of all Egyptian businesses. What a disaster. All
it did was manage to piss us off more. The U.N. peacekeeping
force remained until 1967, sporadic fighting occurred between
Egyptian and Israeli forces until 1970, and the canal continues to
be closed to shipping to this day. Nasser died less than four years
ago, in 1970. Vice I'resident Anwar Sadat took over.
"We worked diligently to bring Sadat around to our side.
Believe me, I was there. At first he resisted. He made a big deal
out of concluding a treaty with the Soviets that Nasser began. He
seemed to enjoy thumbing his nose at us. But we ignored the
insults and hung in there. It worked. Sadat did an about-face. He
expelled the Soviets in seventy-two." He sighed. "Then he blew it
again. He sent troops
EMPIRE
across the Suez Canal and attacked Israeli positions in the
Sinai. Simultaneously, Syria invaded Israel along the Golan
Heights. Israel drove back their attackers, and you know the rest:
The Yom Kippur War ended in a cease-fire on October 24,1973.
Now, Sadat's feverishly courting us again, trying to make
amends—negotiating disengagement accords with Israel, actively
encouraging foreign investment, and requesting U.S. and World
Bank aid. The window of opportunity has opened ..."
He drained his water. "Mr. Hall, I very much agree with your
statement." He glanced down at a paper on the table next to his
plate. "'The pyramids of Egypt symbolize the role that country
must play if we're to win the hearts and minds of the Arabs. Egypt
will form the base, large and firm. Then we will pile them up, one
country after the next.'" He leaned toward Hall, a subtle but
obvious bow of respect. "Sir, I'd like to commend you for that. A
brilliant evaluation. It totally reflects the reality of where we stand
today."
After lunch, we milled around and shook each other's hands.
At one point I wandered over to the window to take another look
at Harvard. I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned I was
shocked to see George Rich's ancient and weather-beaten face
smiling kindly at me; next to Hall, he was considered the most
powerful man at MAIN. "Presidents come and go," my boss
Bruno Zambotti had once told me, "but Hall and Rich are always
there, pulling the strings."
George Rich had been sitting at a nearby table with a couple
of other men. "Quite a view," he said. "Got a moment? Can you
come to my office?"
188
34
Egypt: Controlling Africa
1 could not believe my good fortune. First, lunch with Mac
Hall and a group of top executives; now, an invitation from a man
who was truly a living legend in the engineering profession. I had
heard many stories about George Rich's exploits in Africa and the
Middle East. He was one of the first to venture into remote areas
and develop hydroelectric sites for rural towns. He had traveled
down the Congo River back in the days when it was still Joseph
Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Rumor had it that he had trudged
across deserts with Lawrence of Arabia. Now, late in life (I had
been informed that lie was eighty-four), he was held in the highest
esteem by engineers from around the globe. I had discovered that
mentioning his name to the heads of companies in Bogota and
Tehran would win invita-t ions to home-cooked meals in their
homes (something practically unheard of among Iranians). He
was also one of the founding partners of Uhl, Hall, and Rich, an
engineering firm that had been created by MAIN'S CEO and his
two closest associates to do work that, for reasons no one ever
satisfactorily explained to me, could not be accomplished by
MAIN itself. I had been told that the laws of New York state
required such a company. But my hunch—and it was just a
hunch—was that it had been set up to conduct more clandestine
activities, or perhaps to help its three principals launder money—
t heir own and that of wealthy clients and government organizations.
I followed George Rich out of the restaurant. However, we did
not go to his office. Instead, after taking the elevator down to the
Moor where MAIN'S executive offices were located, we headed
along the corridor to the boardroom. He produced a key and
ushered me
EMPIRE
inside. "Changed my mind," he said, motioning for me to sit in
one of the plush chairs. "I think this place is a bit more private
than my office."
He turned his back and strolled over to a display on the wall. It
centered around a lighted map of the world with a parabolic
shadow that moved across it indicating where day became night. I
had been admitted to this room once before to study this map.
Mac Hall's private secretary had unlocked the door and stood
discreetly to the side as I determined what time I would have to
rouse myself that night to make a telephone call to Bangkok.
Rich pointed at the top of the African continent. "Egypt." He
turned to face me. "I know you just got the cheerleader version
from that A-I-D guy. Now, I want to make sure you know the real
story. I understand you're pretty sharp, got the true picture of what
we do. You'll be going to Egypt soon and then to Kuwait, Iraq,
and Saudi Arabia." He let this sink in, fully aware, I was certain,
of the thrill the names of these countries—and the knowledge that
I would visit them—inspired in me. "You know, of course, that
our job is much bigger than what it appears, what the contracts
state." He leaned forward and stared at me. "Right?"
"Yes, sir. I fully understand."
"Good. I've never been knighted. I'm no 'sir.' My name's
George."
I could only smile, wondering whether I would ever be able to
call him that, to his face.
"OK," I said.
He tapped the map with his knuckles. "You've been informed
about the Muslim Brotherhood."
"Yes."
"Well, they're very dangerous, must be won over,
compromised, bought out, destroyed, whatever, because they can't
be stopped. Sadat proved that. You go after them and they just
gain more support. Like throwing kerosene on a fire." He pulled a
chair up in front of mine and stood behind it, facing me. "But
that's not your job, not
190EGYPT: CONTROLLING AFRICA
now at least." He sat down, so close our knees nearly touched.
"Look at that map." He pointed. "What do you see?"
I was confused. "Egypt, you mean?"
"Of course, Egypt. But where is it? Where's Egypt?" He patted
my knee. "Get up there and take a good look."
I did. "On the Mediterranean and Red Seas, next door to
Israel."
He gave a sigh. "What continent?"
"Africa."
"Yes, the light flashes on!" He reached above his head and
made the motions of a man pulling a string. "Yes indeed, Africa.
Take another look at that map. Contrary to what most Americans
seem to think, Egypt's an African country. Is it part of the Middle
East? Sure. The Middle East isn't a continent. Middle country. A
rope that ties Europe and Asia. And, contrary to public opinion,
Egypt ties both of them to Africa. Now, let me ask you a really
tough one. Does Egypt have a river?"
"The Nile."
"Right. And what can you tell me, from that map, about the
Nile River?"
"It runs through Sudan . . ."
"Which until 1956 was part of Egypt. It was granted
independence by the British, of all things, by the Brits and the
Egyptians. However, many Egyptians are still pissed off about
that, they consider that huge piece of real estate theirs. Where else
does the Nile go?"
"Well, if you include both branches of the Nile, Lake
Tanganyika, and those other smaller lakes, it covers a good share
of the continent."
"Aha. Welcome to the land of Dr. Livingston I presume. One
more question. If you get this one right, you can come back here
and sit down again. What direction does the Nile flow?"
"North."
"Bravo. So, what you're saying is that a great deal of the
African continent drains into the Nile and the Nile flows into
Egypt, right? Good. Then can we surmise that the fertile flood
plain where the
EMPIRE
pharaohs built their pyramids contains the silt—the topsoil, the
heart and soul if you will—of a great portion of Africa? That
Cairo is built on African soil, not just because it sits on the
African continent but because it sits on soil that originates in the
lands south of it? Right you are. Come, rest yourself here again."
I took my seat and waited for him to continue. He just sat
there staring at me. I tried to choose my words carefully, aware
that this man could make or break my career. "I understand what
you're saying. Egypt may play an important role in the Arab
world, but it also has an impact on Africa." I glanced back at the
map. "It's a bridge, from both a geographic and a social
perspective. Also economically and ethnically." He continued to
stare. I had missed something. "And, of course, religion too."
"Very good." He stood up, clasped his hands behind his back
and wandered over to the map again. "Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia,
Somalia, Kenya ... these are all ancient lands, interconnected
through the threads of history, not to be taken lightly. The Greek
historian Herodotus sang their praises in the fifth century B.C.
Legend has it that the Ethiopian monarchy—today's Emperor
Haile Selassie— was founded by the son of Israel's King Solomon
and the Queen of Sheba. This entire region is an amazing place.
Not to be taken lightly." He shook his head solemnly. "No, sir,
not to be taken lightly at all." He stared at the map for another
long moment. Then he came back to me. "You know there's one
hell of a lot of oil in that region too. I'm certain of it. I've spent a
lifetime studying geology and I can tell you that during your life
Africa will become a battleground over oil." He sat down. "So go
ahead and mind the words of Mr. U-S-A-I-D, go off to Egypt and
use it as a staging ground for subjugating the Middle East. And
also, recognize what few people are talking about today ..."
"It's the staging ground for Africa too."
"And if you ever intend to have children, and want them to
live prosperous lives, you damn well better make sure that we
control
192EGYPT: CONTROLLING AFRICA
the African continent. We need the Middle East. Yes. But we
must have Africa too."
Walking out of that boardroom I felt elated. During a few
short hours I had attended a meeting with MAIN'S CEO and a
senior USAID officer and I had been singled out by George Rich.
I had never before thought about the fact that Egypt was part of
Africa as well as the Middle East or that it performed such a
significant function in geopolitics. I was certain that few
Americans were privy to this perspective. I felt like a man on a
mission, who had been initiated into an exclusive club.
I rode the elevator to the ground floor and began to walk
across t he Prudential Center toward the building that housed my
office, the Southeast Tower, 101 Huntington Avenue. Perhaps, I
thought, Rich's last comment was the key. Someday I would raise
a family. I peered through the window of an upscale clothing
store at a male mannequin wearing a pinstripe suit. I promised to
return later in the week and purchase that suit. The decision to do
so liberated me. I told myself that George Rich, the venerable
engineer, was right; we had to take control of countries with
resources our corporations wanted, for the sake of future
generations.
I bought that suit. And within weeks, I stepped onto a plane,
headed for Egypt.
193
35
Infidel Dog
During my times in Cairo and Alexandria, I grew increasingly
frustrated by the lack of cooperation from local officials. I had
been hired by USAID to develop economic forecasts that would
be used by the Egyptian government to procure World Bank
financing. To do my job properly I needed detailed population
statistics for specific regions of the country. Although I knew they
existed, I was told by one bureaucrat after another that the
information was not available for public consumption. I kept
pointing out that I was not the public, that I was working for
them, in the strictest confidence, and that I had to obtain those
statistics if they expected me to compile a report that would
ultimately bring billions of dollars into their country. This sort of
appeal-cum-threat had worked for me in Asia and Latin America;
however, it seemed to have no impact in Egypt.
The officials in Cairo and Alexandria who were assigned as
my counterparts, and therefore were supposed to expedite my
work, showed me around their cities. We visited spice markets
and smoky cafes where turban-wrapped men played dominoes
and puffed on bubbling hookahs, strolled along the Nile and the
Mediterranean, gawked at precious jewels and priceless
antiquities in ancient palaces, and consumed gallons of tea. But
whenever I reminded them that I was waiting for the population
statistics, they reiterated the difficul ties while soliciting my
patience. "Things take a great deal of time here," they would say.
Or "This is not like America, we are a very old country, camels
walk slowly." When I offered to bribe them—legally, of course,
by paying excessive amounts for people to work overtime,
194INFIDEL DOG
with the officials pocketing the difference—they merely shook
their heads and offered me another cup of tea.
Finally, in utter frustration, I decided to go above my counterparts' heads. It was a drastic step—one I had always avoided
before because of the risk of antagonizing people I relied on—but
this was a situation that had turned desperate.
I arranged a meeting with a man at the top of the government,
someone who had served in several ministries and now was a
personal adviser to President Sadat. He had a long formal name,
but I was told to simply refer to him as Dr. Asim. He had
graduated from Harvard Business School, was intimately familiar
with organizations like the World Bank and USAID, and had a
reputation for getting things done. For my part, I understood that
his assistance would not be cheap; I was prepared to bribe him
generously.
I was delivered to a modern high-rise office building and then
escorted by a burly security officer into an elevator and to the top
floor. A dour-faced, tall, thin Egyptian man in a black suit showed
us into a tiny room with a couple of couches and in perfect
British-accented English informed us that there would be a very
short wait. The security officer, who spoke no English, sat down
across from me. We waited. I read an old copy of TIME from a
pile of magazines on the table between our couches. The security
officer dozed. I read a National Geographic. We waited for nearly
two hours. Tea was never offered. There was no doubt in my
mind that Dr. Asim was serving notice of his importance—and,
judging from the lack of tea, his displeasure that I would try to
bypass the normal channels; although seething, I prepared myself
to offer an even bigger bribe.
At last, the tall, thin Egyptian reappeared. Without apologies,
he ushered me down a long corridor to a massive wooden door
that would have suited King Tut's tomb far better than this
contemporary building. He opened it. I was shocked by the
vastness of the room; it was opulent enough to please the most
egotistic pharaoh,
EMPIRE
decorated in a combination of ancient Egyptian and modern
Park Avenue. Antique papyrus scrolls vied with Picasso vases.
Modern designer furniture rested on Persian carpets.
Dr. Asim was hunched over a colossal desk, dressed in a dark
blue suit and gold tie. His face was pudgy and soft, like a melon.
He wore wire-rimmed spectacles, the kind I associate with
Benjamin Franklin. He did not bother to look up when I walked
in. The tall, thin man bowed out. I stood near the doorway waiting
as the Dr. apparently finished some paperwork. Finally he raised
his eyes. "Sit," he said indicating a chair in front of his desk and
then returned to his work.
I felt confused and slighted. I might have transgressed, but this
was overkill. Had he forgotten that I represented a prestigious
consulting firm hired to help his country?
After what felt to me like a very long time, he straightened and
peered at me over the tops of his glasses. He seemed to measure
me as one might an insect caught scurrying across the dinner
table. Then, in an effort that appeared to summon all his energy,
he reached across his desk and held out his hand. I had to stand to
shake it.
My confusion turned to anger. I suppressed it and forced a
smile. Trying to adhere to local etiquette, I thanked him profusely
for agreeing to meet with me.
He ignored my niceties and, without the exchange of greetings
that are customary in Egypt, bluntly asked me what I wanted.
There could be no doubt that a polished diplomat was
insulting me. Openly, flagrantly. I was tempted to walk out.
Instead, I took myself back to the Engineers Club atop Boston's
Prudential Tower and then to George Rich in MAIN'S boardroom.
Suddenly I felt vindicated. My revenge for his insolence was the
knowledge that I was an EHM on assignment to exploit him and
his country. I could suffer his little victories knowing that my side
would win the Big One; this battle might be his, but the war
would be mine. I relaxed into my chair and my smile turned
genuine. "Population data."
196INFIDEL DOG
"I beg your pardon."
"I need population data." I explained my dilemma in the
briefest language. "So, you see," I ended, "unless your people
cooperate with me, your country won't get all that money your
president is requesting."
He slammed his fist down on his desk and stood up. His girth
reflected that of his office. His chair rolled back across the floor
until it bumped against the wall. "I don't give a damn about your
billions," he said, his voice surprisingly low and controlled, given
the histrionics of his actions. "Young man—for you can't be as
old as my youngest son—what gives you the right to march in
here and make demands?" He waved a spongy hand to forestall
my answer. "Let me tell you a thing or two. I've lived in your
country. I know all about your fancy cities, cars, and homes. I
know what you think of us." Placing his hands on his desk, he
leaned across it and glared at me. "Do you know how many
people at Harvard asked me if I rode a camel? At Harvard!
Amazing, your stupidity. The myopia of your country. We
Egyptians have been around thousands of years, tens of
thousands. We will be around when all of you are dust." He retrieved his chair and sat back down, emitting a loud sigh as he did
so, and turned his attention once again to the papers on his desk.
I sat there staring at him, forcing myself to recall those
moments in the boardroom. I also journeyed back to meetings in
Indonesia where—because I spoke their language and my hosts
did not realize it—I overheard government officials denigrating
me, while smiling politely and offering me their finest teas. I
steeled myself. I would beat him at his game.
Eventually he looked at me across the tops of those spectacles.
He waved me away. "Go."
"But..."
He slammed his fist down once again. This time he remained
seated. "Always remember," he said with that disorienting calm,
"you are an infidel dog." His eyes held mine, unflinching, a trait
EMPIRE
from Harvard I supposed. "Infidel dog." He spoke the words
excruciatingly slowly. "Now, go. You'll get your population data
if Sadat and Allah will it."
Several days later the information was delivered. It arrived
unceremoniously, in a soiled manila folder, handed to me by a
courier who had ridden through the dust and gas fumes on a
motorbike. There was no note attached, nothing to explain where
it had come from or why, but it was all there, everything I needed.
And I never paid anyone for it.
As I pored over the dozens of pages of boring numbers, I
wondered why it had been such a big deal. Was there a logical
reason for withholding these statistics? The only explanation that
came to mind was the Egyptian fear of an Israeli air strike. But I
could not see how population projections could help Israel. They
already possessed, I was certain, all the information they needed
to guide their planes and missiles; bombs did not care whether a
specific suburb would increase by an additional 100,000 or
110,000 people during the next twenty years. Then I recalled Dr.
Asim's words.
I was an infidel dog. The Egyptians knew something that only
a few of my countrymen comprehended: We used data like the
projections Dr. Asim had provided to me for empire building.
EHM economic reports were far better weapons than Crusader
swords had ever been. Israeli bombs served their purpose,
delivering havoc, raining down fear, and compelling government
officials to capitulate. But people like me were the real danger.
We were the ones who took advantage of the havoc, channeled
the fear, and made sure that those who capitulated honored their
articles of surrender—ami hopefully learned their lessons well
enough to avoid future bomb ings. Ultimately we had to be
pampered because we sat at the top ol the heap. Men like Dr.
Asim had no choice but to give in or loose their jobs. And he
detested me for it.
198
36
Iran: Highways and Fortresses
I hopped around the globe a great deal in those days. Dr.
Asim's words accompanied me. My emotions turned from
defensive to angry and then I arrived at the realization that he was
a proud man who hailed from a proud culture and hated the
knowledge that, like Cleopatra's courtiers, he had to bow to
Caesar. I understood that in his place I might have been even
ruder.
I was struck by the irony that my country might be Rome to
modern Egypt, but at home we experienced our own tumult. I had
grown up during an era of national self-examination. We had
lived through a series of events that deeply impacted my
generation: the Watts and Detroit riots, the standoff at Wounded
Knee, marches by Cesar Chavez and his United Farm Workers,
and multitudes of other, less publicized acts of rebellion by
minorities in the United States. I equated these events with those
of my ancestors who had experienced similar oppression at the
hands of English masters. Impassioned indignation had led all of
them to take up arms. Blacks, Indians, and Hispanics had been
labeled as subversives by the corporatocracy, and my ancestors
had been "traitors" to the British empire builders; yet, now young
people looked up to the minority leaders as heroes and those men
and women who had defended their rights against foreign masters
were our founders.
And here I was: a man caught between worlds, on the one
hand sympathizing with the freedom fighters, on the other serving
the c aptains of Empire. As if to emphasize my dilemma, I
traveled to I ran many times; I worked for the shah.
EMPIRE
We EHMs portrayed the shah as a ruler determined to
cultivate his country into the flower of civilization it had
represented during the reigns of Darius and Alexander the
Great—three centuries before Christ—a man who would employ
his vast oil reserves, combined with the expertise of companies
like MAIN, to materialize dreams of grandeur. Somehow we
managed to convince ourselves that from this transformation
would rise a democratic, egalitarian society.
Our strategy to offer the shah's government as an alternative to
those in Russia, Libya, China, Korea, Cuba, Panama, Nicaragua,
and other nations where anti-Americanism was rampant focused
on the alleged "facts" that in 1962 the shah broke up large private
land holdings and turned them over to peasants; he—and we—
then created his White Revolution, a program that appeared to in-
augurate extensive socioeconomic reforms. I shudder now,
looking back, because I know that in our hearts we understood
that all this was really a whitewashed revolution. It was a
subterfuge for boosting the shah's power. On the surface, Iran was
a model of Christian-Muslim cooporation. However, in actuality
it was a proxy for U.S. hegemony in the Middle East. It was
exactly what Dr. Asim had feared for Egypt. It was also an
outcome of the type George Rich wanted when he advocated
controlling the Middle East and Africa for the sake of America's
future generations.
MAIN'S contractual assignments in Iran increased
significantly after 1974. The push for oil had grown frenetic. The
word was out: Bring OPEC into our fold, make them servants to
the Empire.
My job was critical. The planners and engineers depended on
my forecasts of regional development to design electrical systems
that would provide the huge amounts of energy needed to fuel the
industrial, commercial, and military growth required to assure
wealthy Iranians that they would prosper. Their happiness was the
key to maintaining the shah's rule—and the steady flow of oil.
"You'll fly from Tehran to Kerman," Bruno Zambotti, my boss
at MAIN, told me. "An oasis in the famous Dasht-e Lut, the high
plateau
200IRAN: HIGHWAYS AND FORTRESSES
desert where Alexander made his historic march. An oasis of
secret delights. From there you'll drive through some of the most
spectacular desert on this planet, to Bandar-e Abbas. Today it's a
sleepy fishing village. Tomorrow it will rival the Riviera." By
then I knew Bruno was prone to hyperbole, but I had no idea ...
I joined two MAIN engineers on a small plane from Tehran to
Kerman. It was midsummer; although late afternoon, the heat was
stifling. The town appeared neglected by time and, except for a
few children and old people loitering in the shadows, vacant. If
the dust and squalor were hiding secret delights, they were
certainly beyond my reach—or imagination. Sweating profusely,
we checked into the town's best hotel. The lobby was small,
gloomy, and practically devoid of furniture. The young man
behind the receptionist's counter was pleased to inform us that,
yes, they served cold beer at the patio bar. Each of us had our own
room—amazingly "with bathroom"— and we agreed to meet at
the bar in thirty minutes.
The room was typically sparse, but delightfully clean. To my
relief, it sported a window AC unit—very noisy, but functioning.
Although there was indeed a bathroom, I discovered that the toilet
did not flush. Two faucets protruded next to it. The higher one
turned on a tiny spigot above my head that I supposed served as a
shower; I he lower one could be used to fill a rusty bucket that
allowed me to Hush the toilet.
I stripped down to take a shower standing in the tiny space
between the toilet and the wall. There was no shower curtain;
when I turned on the faucet a paltry spray missed me but
drenched the toilet. If I leaned over the porcelain bowl I could
dampen myself enough to work up a lather and rinse off. The only
other indication that this contraption was supposed to perform the
function of a shower was the hole in the floor at the opposite end
of the bathroom through which the water eventually drained. I
wondered when Bruno had last visited this "oasis."
Surprisingly refreshed after my shower I made my way to the
patio bar, four rust-flecked iron tables and a dozen chairs situated
EMPIRE
on a terrace that opened to an impressive view of the nearby
desert. One of the engineers, Frank, was already seated there,
three full beer glasses on the table in front of him.
"Only one brand," he said. "I figured you'd take it."
We waited fifteen minutes. Then we decided that our
companion must be napping. We toasted the next day's journey
and took a drink. As we set our glasses down, James arrived. He
shuffled across the terrace looking bedraggled. He was holding
the shirt he had worn on the flight out. It was sopping, dripping
wet. He slapped the shirt onto the table, plopped down in the
empty seat, and drained his glass of beer.
"What happened?" Frank asked.
"I had to take a crap," James replied. "The toilet wouldn't
flush. I saw that damn bucket and turned on the faucet—the
wrong one. I got soaked by the shower."
When we finally stopped laughing, Frank pointed out that the
desert air would dry the shirt in no time.
"That's what I figured," said James. "Otherwise I'd never have
carried it out here to this fancy bar."
The next morning we were picked up by two Iranians—a
government engineer/translator and a driver—in a jeep wagon.
They took the front seat and the three of us crammed ourselves
into the backseat, me—the youngest—in the middle, straddling
the mound of the driveshaft. As we drove along the crude road
that would transport us from the high central plateau desert down
to the shores of the Persian Gulf, the Iranian engineer explained
that we were following the route of ancient caravans.
"This desert has always been both a curse and a blessing," he
said, craning to look at us. "It protected my ancestors from
enemies and made it almost impossible for them to cross their
own country. Today it's more important than ever. You see,
Dasht-e Lut separates Europe, Africa, and what you call the
Middle East from Asia. It also offers a direct route between the
Soviet Union and the Persian Gulf. Look at a map. You know that
the Russians want to occupy us This very road we travel, rough
as it is today, would become a superhighway for their military.
Right alongside"—he pointed—"they'd build a huge oil pipeline.
The little town where we'll sleep tonight, Bandar-e Abbas, would
become a communist fortress. Jets, missiles, nuclear subs, aircraft
carriers—they'd control the world's most important oil routes."
Frank, James, and I shot looks back and forth. "Guess that
sums it up," James observed. "We got quite a job ahead of us.
Don't feel pressured though, my friends; all we have to do is save
the world from communism."
"The key," the Iranian continued, "is for us—you Americans
and us Persians—to do it first. We must build that military
highway and we must turn Bandar-e Abbas into our own
fortress."
"That's why we're here," said Frank.
"Always keep in mind," the engineer observed, "that Iranians
are not Arabs, we're Persians, Arians. We're Muslims, but the Arabs threaten us. We're with you guys ioo percent."
The desert was not the endless waves of sand Peter O'Toole
had struggled through in Lawrence of Arabia. There was nothing
monotonous about the mountains of red, purple, and russet that
stretched for as far as the eye could see. To my mind, it was
absolutely beautiful, as spectacular as Bruno had promised. And it
was foreboding. I could not imagine caravans of hundreds of
people and camels crossing it.
Despite the jeep's AC, there was no relief from the oppressive
heat. We made a number of stops so the engineers could test the
soil and other conditions that would impact the transmission line,
pipeline, and highway. When we vacated the car, at first it seemed
cooler, but then the sun bore down relentlessly. Once we took a
break for tea and dates at a tiny village that truly qualified as a
desert oasis, a tranquil island in a hostile sea.
Shortly after leaving the date oasis, the car filled with a
terrible odor.
"Something's burning!" Frank yelled.
EMPIRE
The driver pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the
brake. "Everyone out," the Iranian engineer commanded.
The doors flew open and all the men leapt to the ground,
except me. I could not lift my feet from the floor. My legs felt
paralyzed.
"Hurry up," James commanded. "What's wrong with you?"
I had no idea. I strained with all my might, but my feet simply
would not obey. Panicked, I slipped out of the loosely-tied
topsiders I was wearing. Thankfully my feet responded. I pushed
myself through the door and tumbled onto the desert floor.
Cautiously Frank peered back inside. Then he began to laugh.
"The rubber soles of your shoes," he turned to me, "melted and
are welded to the carpet over the drive shaft. I've seen engines
overheat before, but this takes the cake!"
It required work, but eventually I was able to separate my
topsiders from the burnt carpet and we continued on. We arrived
in Bandar-e Abbas just as the sun was beginning to set.
204
37
Israel: America's Foot Soldier
Located on the Straits of Hormuz, opposite the horn of the
Arabian Peninsula where the United Arab Emirates, Oman,
Bahrain, and Qatar were created when the British withdrew in
1971, Bandar-e Abbas commands one of the world's most
strategic corridors. It was once the headquarters of fierce pirates
who marauded ships sailing out to the Arabian Sea. Today, much
of the world's petroleum passes close to its shores.
When we arrived it was still a small, impoverished village,
with an enormous modern hotel located right on the gulf—a
prerequisite to attracting the types of consultants who could
transform this town into a state-of-the art military-industrial
center. The five of us were some of the hotel's first guests. We
assembled for dinner to find that we and three waiters had the
spacious restaurant to ourselves.
"Come back in five years," the Iranian engineer said, "and you
won't recognize this place. One way or another, it'll change.
Either you'll do it or the Russians will."
After we broke up, I grabbed a cigar and went alone into the
night. I headed for the water. A newly constructed wharf extended
out over the shallow gulf, reaching perhaps a half mile from the
shore. There was no moon, but the night sky was bright with stars.
I wandered slowly out onto the wharf. A breeze stirred the gulf.
Despite the lit cigar, the stench of decaying fish permeated the air.
Looking across the dark water, I wondered what was happening
on the other side. I realized that I knew little about the countries
that rimmed Saudi Arabia.
About three-quarters of the way out, I stopped, halted by a jolt
of
EMPIRE
fear. A strange red glow rose and fell in a slow arc at the end
of the wharf. I stood still and watched it, telling myself I should
scurry back to the hotel but anchored there by a perverse
curiosity. I took another step. As my eyes adjusted, the ghostly
image of a man materialized. I raised my cigar; the red glow
mirrored my action. He too was smoking. It seemed he was
mocking me. I lowered my cigar. His followed. The longer I
observed him, the more curious I became. My fear dissipated.
Surely a thief would not have picked the end of a wharf to find his
victim. Who was he? I immediately thought about the Russians.
But what would one of them be doing here, at this time of night?
I continued on, consciously altering my stride. I wanted to
convey an impression of determination. And strength. Perhaps
fifty feet away from him, it struck me that he might be anxious
about my presence too; I slowed down.
He coughed.
I stopped.
Then he spoke. In Farsi or Arabic—I was not sure which.
"I don't understand," I said very slowly.
"American," he responded. "You're American, aren't you? I
can tell from the way you walk and your accent. My English is
pretty good."
"Yes, I'm American."
"I'm Turkish," he said. "Like you, a visitor, a guest in this
hotel. Please come join me."
I walked up to him. We shook hands. His name was Nesim.
He smoked a cigarette, not a cigar. "I'm a college history
professor," he explained, "researching a book on old trade routes.
I've traveled from Istanbul, following some of those routes. They
brought me here."
We talked for a while about our impressions of Iran. He made
no secret of his loathing for the shah, "the dictator king" as he
called him. Up until this point I had not heard anyone in this
counti . criticize the shah. I had of course read of an underground
that
206ISRAEL: AMERICA'S FOOT SOLDIER
wanted to overthrow him, but all the Iranians I knew worked
for one of the branches of the shah's government. This man was
different. Obviously well informed, he was not shy in expressing
his beliefs. I suspected that he was pleased to have an audience;
an American who was willing to listen to him must have been
about the last thing he expected to encounter on the wharf.
Perhaps it was the night, the place, or simply exhaustion from the
journey; in any case, I found myself listening intently to Nesim's
point of view.
"All of you are deceived by the dictator king," he said. "Well,
not all. I'm certain your president knows the truth and the other
people who run your country know it too. That is, after all, their
specialty. Deception. Your leaders hide their imperialism. Or try
to anyway. They hide the money they make, the things they do to
corrupt people. They brag about helping the downtrodden, while
they hide the fact that they protect the rich." He took a long drag
on his cigarette. "You are a country behind a mask."
Several times I felt that I should interrupt, that I needed to
defend the United States and by doing so justify myself; but
instead I listened. Referring to the 1973 Yom Kippur War, he
asked, "Why did Egypt and Syria strike at Israel? They felt they
had no other options. Your people haven't a clue of the crimes the
Israelis commit against Arabs, the threat they pose. Or that it is
really an American war, Israel is just your foot soldier. It wasn't
enough that you stole Palestine, the land its people call Dar alIslam, the eternal domain of Muslims, and handed it to the Jews.
You had to keep taking more. You used your wealth to make the
Jews think you were building them a homeland. You rub Muslim
noses into the shit of history. You sing fancy songs about
democracy. But we saw what you think of democracy right here
in Iran when your CIA overthrew Mossadegh. Oh, Israel isn't
about democracy, or protecting a people victimized by Hitler.
You torture, lie, and steal for oil."
He placed the hand that held his cigarette—the right one—
over his heart. "I feel for the Jews in Israel. Really I do. I'm not
Palestinian, so I can do that. I suppose I would kill them if it came
to battle, if you try to shove your borders into Turkey, but I also
sympathize with them. They're like sheep sent before armies.
Shields. You Americans are to blame. You encourage Jews to
sacrifice their families while your corporations pump oil. Jews are
your watchdogs. You give them nuclear warheads so they can
keep us Muslims in our place. You fund their army. The
Palestinians have no army, just a few patriots. They have no
government, no land to live on.
"For you, Israel is all about domination, about controlling oil.
For the Jews, it is a dream—one that will prove illusory. For
Palestinians, it is their home—a home they've been forced to
vacate. For Arabs it is an enemy fortress built on Arab lands. For
Muslims everywhere, it is an insult, a humiliation, a reason for us
to hate you."
38
The Iraq-Iran War: Another EHM
Victory
Nesim came back to me thirty years later. On a June night in
2004 I was soaring above the Middle East, headed for Qatar, a
stop-off point for changing planes on my way to Nepal and Tibet.
Located .u ross the Persian Gulf from Bandar-e Abbas, Qatar was
a country I had barely heard of during my EHM days. Peering
through the window, I watched the sun set over Greece, Turkey,
Syria, Iraq, and Iran. I thought about my grandmother, the long
winter evenings shcn she read to me from the Odyssey, The
Arabian Nights, and the Bible. My plane passed over the islands
where Homer's adventurer roamed and toward the mountain
where Noah had built his ark; we entered the airspace above a
magical land that was the home of Babylon's hanging gardens,
humanity's first cities and farms, and our earliest written
language; below me was where the wheel and modern
mathematics were invented. I recalled the stories that had
captivated me about the fortresses attacked by Richard the
Lionhearted and defended by Saladin. Then my thoughts focused
on Nesim.
It had not taken much time—a blink in history—for his
prophecy to become reality. I myself had written a book exposing
the deceits he had described. His Iranian dictator-king had fallen,
replaced by radical mullahs; Israel had grown even more
aggressive, and the United States had supported her every move;
the Palestinians sufffered and showed others, like bin Laden,
about the power of a single person wearing a homemade bomb;
the United States had demonstrated its brutality in a hundred
unknown places and a few known ones: Panama, Haiti, and
Sudan. Then came 9/11, Afghanistan, and Iraq. After so many
years on this planet we humans had failed
EMPIRE
to wean ourselves of the compulsion to subjugate and
slaughter our brothers and sisters. Gory crusades were not
relegated to the past.
I felt exhausted, overcome by a profound sense of
discouragement. The whole world had watched the United States
launch what Muslims called a New Crusade when Stealth
bombers invaded Iraq for the second time in little more than a
decade. Yet, although shock and awe elevated military violence to
new levels of horror, from my point of view it was simply the
next predictable step in Washington's plan to dominate Middle
Eastern guardians of the world's largest oil repository.
Controlling, or destroying, Saddam had seemed an inevitable
consequence of my own EHM successes in Saudi Arabia.
Throughout the 1980s, Washington supported Saddam's war
on Iran. Not only was he our vehicle for revenge against the
ayatollahs who had deposed the shah, stormed our embassy,
humiliated American hostages, and expelled our oil companies,
but also he sat atop the world's second-largest oil reserves. The
EHMs went to work on him. We gave him billions of dollars.
Bechtel built him chemical plants that we knew would produce
sarin and mustard gas for killing Iranians, Kurds, and Shi'a rebels.
We provided him with fighter jets, tanks, and missiles and trained
his military to operate them. We pressured the Saudis and
Kuwaitis to lend him $50 billion.
Watching events unfold in Iraq, I often thought back to the
words of that Iranian engineer who escorted me and the other two
MAIN employees from Kerman to Bandar-e Abbas. "Iranians are
not Arabs, we're Persians, Arians," he had said. "The Arabs
threaten us. We're with you guys 100 percent." Suddenly the
tables had turned. The Iranians had become the bad guys and an
Arab named Saddam was our ally.
The eight-year Iraq-Iran war was one of the longest, costliest,
and bloodiest in modern history. By the time it ended in 1988,
more than a million people were dead. Villages, farms, and the
ecoim mies of both countries were devastated. But the
corporatocracy h.ul enjoyed another victory. Military suppliers
and contractors profited handsomely. Oil prices were up.
Throughout, the EHMs tried to
211THE IRAQ-IRAN WAR: ANOTHER EHM
VICTORY
convince Saddam to accept a deal similar to SAMA, the one I
had helped forge with the House of Saud. They wanted him to
join the empire.
But Saddam kept refusing. If he had complied, like the Saudis,
he would have received our guarantees of protection as well as
more U.S.-supplied chemical plants and weapons. When it
became obvious that he was entrenched in his independent ways,
Washington sent in the jackals. Assassinations of men like
Saddam usually have to involve collusion by bodyguards. In the
cases I knew personally—Ecuador's Roldos and Panama's
Torrijos—I was certain that bodyguards trained at the United
States' School of the Americas were bribed to sabotage the
airplanes. Saddam understood jackals and their techniques. He
had been hired by the CIA in the sixties to assassinate Qasim and
had learned from us, his ally, during the eighties. He screened his
men rigorously. He also hired look-alike doubles. His bodyguards
were never sure if they were protecting him or an actor.
The jackals failed. So in 1991, Washington chose the option of
last resort. The first President Bush sent in the U.S. military. At
this point the White House did not want to take Saddam out. He
was their type of leader: a strongman who could control his
people and act as a deterrent against Iran. The Pentagon assumed
that by destroying his army, they had chastised him; now he
would come around. EHMs went back to work on him during the
nineties. He did not buy their package. Once again the jackals
failed. A second President Bush deployed the military. Saddam
was deposed and executed.
Our second invasion of Iraq sent the strongest possible signal
to Islamic militants. They knew that 9/11 was simply a
justification, that the highjackers were not connected to Saddam
or Iraq. They also understood that the Christian Right strongly
influenced U.S. politics, had aligned itself with the Israeli lobby,
and was determined to subjugate the Middle East and control
world oil supplies and transportation routes.
The Arab response was predictable. From the days of
lionhearted
EMPIRE
King Richard of England to President Bush, Arabs have made
two things very clear. They want: 1) Europeans (and now
Americans) to stay away and 2) their own forms of government,
for the most part based on Islamic law, rather than our concepts of
secular democracy.
Middle Easterners never forgave Europe for arbitrarily
imposing borders on tribal lands and crowning "kings" friendly to
their distant regimes. Resentments that began in the Middle Ages
grew over the centuries. Many Arabs believed that the new postWorld War II empire led by the United States had designs similar
to those of the Crusades. The more savvy among them, like
Nesim, suspected from the beginning that Israel was more than a
haven for a suffering people. When Prime Minister David BenGurion proclaimed the birth of the new state on May 14, 1948,
Egypt, Syria, Jordan, Iraq, and Lebanon immediately attacked.
During the ensuing years, Muslim distrust seemed justified by the
United States' uncompromising support of a country that, through
a succession of wars, grabbed more and more territory from them.
They were incensed by the deal we EHMs cut with Saudi Arabia
and by the subsequent Westernization of that country, home to
Islam's most sacred sites. The 1991 invasion of Iraq and the
United States' high-profile military presence following it
supported the theory that the West was continuing a tradition
introduced by medieval European zealots. The second invasion
was, for Middle Eastern Muslims, an intolerable affront; it
conferred on Arab militants a new legitimacy; in the eyes of many
around the world, they were transformed overnight from
"terrorists" to "freedom fighters," and those who saw them in this
new light were not restricted to the Muslim world.
My despair mounted as I thought about the escalation in
weapons and its implications for the Middle East. Ours is a world
bristling with arms like never before. The corporatocracy thrives
on an economy that depends on manufacturing military
equipment. Our arms companies rank among the world's most
profitable businesses. Combined with those of the U.K., France,
Russia, and Brazil, then
212THE IRAQ-IRAN WAR: ANOTHER EHM
VICTORY
sales approach $900 billion annually. Today's chemical,
nuclear, and biological arsenals, along with the more traditional
ones, may boost economies; however, they also threaten mass
murder. Arms consumption has reached global addiction levels; a
country's political status is often measured by the size of its
armory. The corporato-cracy has managed to link the business of
selling death with international diplomacy. Example: Israel and
Egypt each receive billions of dollars every year from
Washington because they participated in the 1978 Camp David
Peace Accords; as part of this "peace" deal, they must earmark a
large portion of the money they are given for purchasing U.S.
military equipment.
Darkness enveloped my plane and I thought about the change
in geopolitics since the time of that trip with Frank and James
from Kerman to Bandar-e Abbas. We traveled down that ancient
desert caravan route as the Vietnam War was ending. After that,
the Middle East became the arms industry's primary testing
ground and market. And later, when the Cold War ceased, Islamic
revolutionaries replaced communists as justification for escalating
the War Ma-c hine. A rudimentary knowledge of history made all
this—and the commercial motivations behind it—seem extremely
obvious. I wondered how so many "educated" people could be
deceived into believ-mg that the current struggles were about
defending noble ideals. The EH Ms and media moguls excelled at
providing disinformation that translated greed and domination
into liberty and democracy. They served the corporatocracy
magnificently.
By the time my plane landed in Qatar, I had been flying for
nearly twenty-four hours. I was exhausted and jet-lagged. I
certainly was not prepared for the man I was about to encounter.
213
39
Qatar and Dubai: Las Vegas in the
Land of Mullahs
I disembarked into the Qatar terminal, disoriented. Glancing
around, I was stunned to discover that the place resembled a
modern shopping mall more than the Middle Eastern airports
from my EHM days. The people themselves provided the only
link to that past—at least a few of them did, the groups of men in
their long traditional robes and kaffiyehs and the women in their
hijabs.
Waiting in line to buy an ice cream, I struck up a conversation
with a man in blue jeans, a polo shirt, and sports coat. He turned
out to be a real estate developer from Los Angeles. Responding to
my amazement about the airport, he said, "Most people focus on
the violence in the Middle East. However, there's another side.
You see it right here in this building, although it's nothing
compared to what you'll find in Dubai. The financing for much of
that violence comes out of the countries on this side of the Persian
Gulf, the Billionaires' Club. Pure capitalist materialism. Pure
gluttony." He grinned broadly. "My kind of people. Turns out
Muslims are pretty much like everyone else. They love diamonds
and gold, and Rolexcs and Mercedes. These Arabs may talk a big
story about living ascetically, following Allah's commands, not
charging interest on loans, keeping their women veiled, and so
forth, but just look around. They sure as hell aren't practicing it."
We arrived at the counter. He insisted on paying for my ice
cream. We wandered through a sea of tables that could have been
a food court in an upscale mall anywhere in the United States and
sat down. He was eager to talk. "Dubai is it, the big enchilada
among all these other tacos," he said, trimming the ice cream at
the edges of his cone with his tongue. "Nothing like it in the
world. The Arabs
214QATAR AND DUBAI: LAS VEGAS IN THE
LAND OF MULLAHS
are playing Allah, bringing in hundreds of thousands of
workers and humongous bulldozers to excavate, drain, dam, and
dredge the sea. Dubai's expanding faster, higher, and bigger than
any other country on earth. It's got an eighty-meter indoor ski
slope, the world's tallest hotel, and soon it will have the world's
highest building." He was now attacking his cone, as though his
words drove him into a feeding frenzy. "Fancy this: Dubai is
home to the World itself—hundreds of man-made islands, each
representing a country or region, the whole thing extending five
miles wide and five miles long out into what was once the Persian
Gulf. A real estate developer's wet dream!" He finished off his
cone and wiped his hands along his jeans. "You think Allah's
boys don't like their booze and women? Think again. In Dubai
anything goes: the best Scotch, gambling, women, drugs,
prostitution. You got money, you buy anything you want.
Anything."
As our plane took off from Qatar, the stars illuminated the
Persian Gulf. It was a night like the one I had experienced in
Bandar-e Abbas; I wondered whether that long wharf where I had
met Nesim was still there, somewhere below my plane. Peering
into the darkness I saw nothing. I recalled that at the end of my
time as an EHM, President Carter's political future had revolved
around Iran. The shah—the man Nesim detested—had fallen, the
U.S. embassy was occupied, the fifty-two hostages were at center
stage, and the president had tried to boost his waning polls by
declaring that any attempt by militants to gain control of the
Persian Gulf would be interpreted as an assault on the United
States. Such an attempt, he declared, would be repelled by
military force, if necessary.
Carter's threat had not been idle. He sent Delta Force to
extricate the hostages. The maneuver ended in tragic failure, but
now I understood that the United States' overall Middle Eastern
policy— especially its support of Israel and the deals it had struck
with the critical Arab governments in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and
Egypt—had accomplished something even more vital to the
corporatocracy's interests. Although our overt policies in Iran and
Iraq seemed a
21 sTHE SECRET HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN
EMPIRE
shambles, in a more subtle way we had co-opted the Arab
world once again. In Dubai, we had sold them "the world." Like
China, the Middle East had bought our form of materialism.
The plane suddenly banked. A flurry of lights appeared
beneath my window. Bandar-e Abbas! I looked for that wharf.
Then I realized that this cluster of lights clung to the southern
edge of the dark Gulf, not where Bandar-e Abbas was located at
all. I was looking at Dubai, at a place that could not have been
detected from a plane at night the last time I visited this area. It
too had been a sleepy village. Now it was the world's most
grandiose shopping mall, ski resort, casino, and entertainment
center.
I craned to take it in, to try to comprehend this paradox, the
brainchild of Arabs who espouse traditional Islamic beliefs and
have built a new type of Mecca that mocks the original. Below
me: a monument to excess that Cleopatra and King Tut might
appreciate. But Osama bin Laden?
I recalled the comment MAIN'S president, Jack Dauber, had
made to me that night he and his wife invited me to dinner at the
Hotel Intercontinental Indonesia regarding oil as the new standard
for establishing the dollar's sovereignty. He had been right. Then
he had turned to his wife and remarked that "the U.S. is launching
a new period in world history ..." He had been right about that
too. But now a quarter century later, that period was already
fading; something entirely different was emerging.
216
40
Into the Abyss
For many years corporatocracy policies appeared successful to
businessmen like MAIN'S Jack Dauber. However, events that
later unfolded in Asia and Latin America have exposed those
policies as failures. They propelled Asia into the 1997 economic
crisis, elevated China to a global leadership role while opening it
to an orgy of materialistic gluttony modeled after our own, and
drastically expanded the gap between Asia's rich and poor. In
Latin America, our actions relegated millions of people to
destitute lives, undermined an aspiring middle class, and finally
empowered indigenous and nationalistic uprisings that brought a
new wave of anti-corporatocracy leaders to power.
Yet Washington denied culpability for its failures. The
newspapers, magazines, and airwaves were flooded with reports
that blamed c orrupt foreign government officials, religious
fanaticism, and left-wing dictators for all the problems. The
corporatocracy and its agents were painted as the good guys,
intent on promoting democracy. Seldom was it mentioned that we
were the ones who corrupted those officials, that our repressive
policies empowered the fanatics, or that many of the Third
World's leaders we classified as "dictators" were actually
democratically elected, often by greater majorities of voters than
U.S. presidents. Through the concerted efforts of politicians,
corporate executives, and a collaborating press, the breakdown in
U.S. foreign policy—at least in Asia and Latin America— was
hidden from most citizens.
The failures, however, were obvious in the Middle East. Even
before the invasion of Iraq, it was apparent that the
corporatocracy had lost control and that EHM strategies had
backfired. Violence
EMPIRE
was rampant, anti-Americanism transparent. Kermit
Roosevelt's scheme led to "blowback" when, in 1979, militant
nationalists dethroned the shah. U.S. support for Israel rendered
millions of Palestinians homeless, generated endless warfare, and
angered Muslims on every continent. Transforming Saudi Arabia
into a miniature of Western culture enraged conservative
Muslims. Arabs educated at Oxford and Harvard saw through the
schemes for plundering their oil.
On September 11, 2001, the corporatocracy's dream of oil
acquired through the collusion of Islamic surrogates and a proxy
army stationed in Israel exploded into a fiery nightmare.
Washington's reaction followed a familiar route, one that put
the country into greater jeopardy. U.S. military intervention in
Afghanistan turned a sympathetic world against us. The invasion
of Iraq sent a message that Washington was more interested in
securing oil supplies than ferreting out Osama bin Laden. In the
longer term, it inflamed already-furious Muslim populations,
inspired millions to join terrorist cells, highlighted the
vulnerability of the U.S. military, and sank the United States into
what amounted to bankruptcy. The post-9/11 policies in fact were
just the last and most obvious in a series of blunders. For every
action the corporate-cracy claimed as a success—establishing the
shah of Iran, the House of Saud, ruling families in Kuwait and
Jordan, and a friendly dictator in Egypt, and supporting Israeli
militarism—there had been counterbalancing losses, such as the
rise of the mullahs, popularity of al-Qaeda, replacement of
moderate governments by radical ones, hero worship of martyred
suicide bombers, and an escalation in fanaticism.
Then Lebanon again was plunged into war, much as it had
been shortly after my first visit there. The turmoil began in
February 2005, when former prime minister Rafik Hariri was
killed in a car bombing in Beirut. His death prompted hysteria and
massive street protests. The new government, voted in during
democratic elections, appeared powerless to control the strongest
faction in the
218INTO THE ABYSS
country, Hezbollah, a Shi'a Islamist organization whose
leaders were classified by Washington as terrorists.
In the summer of 2006, Israel launched massive air strikes
against Lebanon, destroying parts of Beirut, killing innocent
civilians, and cutting the main highway to Syria. Although many
world leaders condemned this invasion as an irresponsible attempt
to wipe out the Lebanese government, Washington defended
Israel's actions. The United States was criticized for once again
placing its oil and commercial interests above those of world
peace and Middle Eastern stability.
Political scientists today marvel at the intransigence of U.S.
policy makers, especially in light of similar mistakes during the
Vietnam War. The North Vietnamese had proven that the most
technically advanced, well-financed military in the world was not
invincible. Why, a quarter century later, was it so difficult for the
White House, Congress, and Pentagon to comprehend this? Why
did so many experienced leaders blunder so terribly?
Perhaps the answer revolves around the fact that the
corporato-cracy reaped immense profits, regardless of all the
miscalculations— or, some would say, because of them. The War
Machine was a financial success even when it failed militarily;
U.S. contractors reaped windfall profits in Vietnam, Afghanistan,
and Iraq, as well as in dozens of other places suffering from
armed conflicts. For the families of those who died and for the
United States as whole, the cost of these wars was outrageously
high. For the scorporatocracy, the payoff was huge.
The consequences of mistakes in Iraq are far more serious for
the future of our country than those in Vietnam. Despite
Washington's attempts to convince us that the domino effect was
a global threat, Vietnam was essentially a regional conflict. By
contrast, the war in Iraq, combined with antagonism throughout
the entire area, is a clash of ideologies. It not only pits
Christianity and Judaism against Islam, it also is a referendum on
the very meaning of consumptive materialism.
220
It may appear that the corporatocracy is winning that
referendum in places like Dubai. But all we have to do is flip the
television channel to news reports from Iran, Iraq, Egypt,
Lebanon, Israel, and Syria to know that Dubai is an anomaly, the
illusion of an oasis in the desert. As we approach the end of the
first decade of the 200os, we can only conclude that the
corporatocracy has led us into an abyss of historic proportions.
Nowhere is this abyss deeper than in Africa.
PART 4:
AFRICA
41
Modern Conquistadors
"If you ever intend to have children, and want them to live
prosperous lives, you damn well better make sure that we control
the African continent."
George Rich's admonition helped me live with myself and
tolerate the other U.S. consultants I shared a mansion with in
Alexandria in the summer of 1974. His shadow had followed me
from Cairo to the pyramids at Gaza; now it hovered behind the
Egyptian government official who stood at the head of the
massive cedar table that appeared almost too large for the elegant
dining room in the house we rented. A colossal residence that
harkened back to a bygone era, it had been built by a British
merchant who amassed fortunes shipping African ivory,
mummies, and jewels snatched from ancient tombs to European
museums.
"History proves that Egypt is the head of the dog whose body
is Africa," the official said with a smug grin. His eyes roved
around the table, taking each of us in—ten men, U.S. citizens,
there to develop water, sewage, and other infrastructure systems.
He thumped the table with his fist. "Make it easy for our
president, the honorable Anwar Sadat, to embrace America, and
Africa will follow. Capitalism for the world!" He paused and
motioned for the waiters to start serving dinner.
"We're the cavalry," a civil engineer from Colorado muttered,
"arriving just in time to save the fort."
"Let's hope we're not Custer," someone mused. It brought a
lound of laughter.
Convincing ourselves that Egypt was the spearhead for
development on the rest of the African continent had become a
nightly
EMPIRE
exercise. We American consultants prided ourselves on our
sophistication and on our abilities to quantify, to reduce complex
problems to statistics that we could summarize in tables, graphs,
and charts. Several held Ph.D.s, the rest a variety of advanced
degrees—except for me, a lowly B.S. wise enough to keep quiet
on the subject. Typical of development experts, we were headpeople who spent an inordinate amount of time assuring ourselves
that our work in Alexandria would generate a new epoch
throughout the continent and that by the beginning of the third
millennium Africa's most serious problems would be relics of the
past.
For most of the team, like the majority of Americans, it
seemed an easy sell. Following the examples of preceding
empires, these modern-day conquistadors had signed up to
transform wayward societies into shadow replicas of their own.
The heathens could be saved, if only they would convert to
Catholicism, or, in contemporary terms, democracy, if only they
would bend to the enlightened leadership of a Caesar or a king—
or to a U.S. president.
Although I tried to conform, increasingly I grew more cynical.
Whether I heard these arguments in Indonesia, Iran, Colombia, or
Egypt, they seemed to carry the religious overtones of my
Calvinistic upbringing; in them, I heard the Puritanical preachings
of early New England's Cotton Mather. But could I really believe
that hell's fires would devour anyone siding with the Soviet
Union? Did Saint Peter stand smiling at the gates of heaven with
open arms for capitalists? And even if someone could convince
me to answer "yes," could we exclude ourselves from those fires?
By what stretch of the imagination would the American Way
appear as free-market capitalism? Everything I saw indicated that
the small-town entrepreneur was headed for extinction, replaced
by the predators at the top of the food chain, the big corporations.
We seemed determined to return to the monopolistic trusts of the
late 1800s. And this time around it was happening on a global
scale.
So what was I doing? I asked myself this question every single
224MODERN CONQUISTADORS
night. I thought about my first trip to the Middle East, those
brief days in Beirut, Marlon Brando, Smiley's tour of the refugee
camps, the sights, smells, textures, tastes, and sounds. It had been
less than four years and yet seemed a lifetime. After dinner, I
often wandered down to the Mediterranean, just a few blocks
away from our mansion. The dark waves crashing against the
seawall took me back to earlier times, to Anthony and Cleopatra,
the pharaohs, the kings and queens who erected the pyramids,
Moses ... I peered across the waters toward Italy and east to
Greece, and then farther east to the land of the Phoenicians—now
Lebanon.
These thoughts of ancient empires brought an odd sort of
comfort. History was a tapestry of conquest and brutality that we
humans had muddled through. The sound of the waves soothed
my tormented soul. George Rich stood before me pointing at the
lighted map in MAIN'S boardroom; the only thing that mattered
was the future for the child that someday would issue from my
loins. For his or her sake we had to control Africa and the Middle
East. It was t he knowledge that my progeny depended on it that
kept me going. That and of course the fact that I was living an
adventure, seeing parts of the world I previously had only
dreamed about, and doing all of it on a very generous expense
account.
Sometimes on those nights down by the Mediterranean I
would turn and look back toward the lights of Alexandria and I
would see beyond them the great expanse of Africa. I imagined it
as the nightmare land depicted in Conrad's Heart of Darkness, a
sinister, loreboding place where human beings treated each other
in unspeakable ways. The violence of Africa was, in my eyes,
more ghastly than the violence of other continents, the horrors
more horrific.
Although I had lived in the Amazon, I felt the Congo was
something different and this difference defined Africa as a whole.
In my youth I had loved the Tarzan books; his jungle had been my
paradise. Later, as I traveled in EHM circles and began to
comprehend the truth of modern history, Tarzan's home
deteriorated in my
EMPIRE
mind. Where had Edgar Rice Burroughs's hero been when the
slavers arrived? The Amazon came to signify a vibrant rainforest,
the Congo a malevolent swamp.
I had visited the slums of Latin America, Asia, and the Middle
East, had recoiled in shock at the Museum of the Inquisition in
Lima and photos of Apache warriors shackled to U.S. Army dungeon walls; I knew about the violence of Suharto's military and
the shah's secret police, the SAVAK; yet, in my opinion, nothing
compared to Africa. What I had not seen I visualized and my
visions included innocent men, women, and children snared in
nets, hauled screaming aboard slave ships, piled one on top of
another, puking, shitting, rotting, trundled off to auction blocks,
sweating, bleeding, dying, while back home in Africa their lands,
their people, animals, and jungles were ravaged by "civilized"
Europeans. All of it so my ancestors could strut in their cotton
gowns.
I thought about these things often. Then one afternoon I met a
young man and woman who had fled from their home in Sudan.
Hearing their shocking story forced me to admit that I was repeating the sins of those slavers.
226
42
Sitting in America's Lap
I was leaning against the seawall, watching fishermen unload
their boat when they came up and stood beside me. We
exchanged smiles. One said, "Hello. How are you? Do you speak
English?" This was not an uncommon experience in those days.
People would often strike up casual conversations with me, out of
curiosity and to practice their English.
"Yes," I replied. "I'm from the United States. My name is
John. Yours?"
"My English name is Sammy. This is my sister, Samantha."
I invited them to a cafe where we chatted for several hours.
They told me they came from southern Sudan.
"The north is Muslim," Sammy explained. "Where we live, in
the south, is very different." He refused to go into detail, but I
knew that those were tribal lands.
"Are you Muslims?" I asked.
"We practice it," he said.
Although I did not press him at the time, during ensuing days
when they escorted me around the sights of Alexandria, they
confided that their people worshipped "the spirits of the land."
They had come to Alexandria after their father was murdered and
their mother dragged off by northerners to be sold in the sex slave
markets.
"We had gone to carry water," Sammy explained. "We heard
our mother screaming and hid in the rocks."
" I was so scared," Samatha said, silently burying her face in
her hands.
They found the small cache of money their parents had
hidden,
EMPIRE
and made their way to Alexandria, which they said was safer
for them than Cairo and where distant relatives offered them
shelter. They converted to Islam, although they admitted that they
continued to pray to the nature gods of their ancestors. Through
their uncle, they met a British couple who ran a small school for
orphans and gave them room, board, and an education in
exchange for the menial tasks they performed around the school.
Following that first encounter, we spent a lot of time together.
We met late in the afternoon, when they had completed their
work. I would treat them to coffee and sometimes dinner. They
showed me the markets, museums, and galleries listed in the
guidebooks, as well as introduced me to Sudanese restaurants and
sections of the city few foreigners ever visit. Despite the
hardships they had endured, they were warm and open.
For me, Sammy and Samantha provided a welcome relief
from the self-serving banter of my fellow consultants. Given the
nature of my work, I could always justify time with them on the
basis that I was gathering information to use in the report I would
eventually have to write. After a while, I became convinced that I
was falling in love with Samantha. I fantasized marrying this
beautiful African and taking the two of them back to the States
with me. I enjoyed imagining the reactions of my parents on the
day I showed up with a young black Sudanese woman on my arm.
When I mentioned the idea of living in the United States to
Sammy, I expected him to react with appreciative enthusiasm.
Instead he gave me a distressed look.
"We're African," he said. "We must return to Sudan and help
our people."
"How? What will you do?"
"Fight for independence."
"But Sudan won independence in 1956."
"There is no Sudan. We're two countries, not the one the
British and Egyptians created."
"The Muslim north and the south?"
228
"Yes. The north is part of the Middle East. The south is
Africa."
This gave me a new perspective, even different from George
Rich's. Egypt was one thing; Sudan quite another. I was amazed
that I had never considered it before. "What about Egypt?" I
asked. "Is it Middle Eastern or African?"
"Neither."
"What then?"
"Do you realize that this country never had an Egyptian-born
leader after the death of Pharoah Nectanebo around three hundred
years before the time of your Christ—until now, this century?"
I confessed to shock. "So where does Egypt sit?"
"Egypt used to sit with Europe."
"And now?"
"She sits in America's lap."
43
A Jackal Is Born
Jack Corbin was a teenager living in Beirut when I first visited
that city in 1971. By the time I arrived in Alexandria about four
years later, he had grown restless; at nineteen he contemplated
leaving his family and home. He had dreamed of Africa most of
his life. His decision to follow that dream would change his life
forever. It would turn him into a jackal. Among his many
assignments: assassinate the president of one of that continent's
most strategic countries. It would also create a friendship between
Jack and me that endured for years.
The son of an American corporate executive, Jack grew up
with violence. He and his buddies passed many an afternoon
sitting on a fence in a suburb overlooking a section of Beirut,
observing the scenes of life playing out far below. Unlike the
daily occurences in other boys' lives, these were sometimes
deadly. One afternoon, through powerful binoculars they watched
three men beat a fourth and heave his limp body into the back of a
pickup truck. Another time, they witnessed the rape of a mother in
front of her infant son. Afterward, a lone man crept out of the
bushes and helped the two to a nearby house.
A cease-fire came. Jack and one of his friends ventured down
to the city to take in a movie. As they left the theater, gunfire
erupted. The cease-fire had ended. A black Mercedes raced past,
stopped, reversed, stopped again. Three men leapt out,
brandishing AK-47S.
They prodded Jack and his friend with their guns and shouted
Arabic insults. They pushed them into the backseat of the big
black sedan, accused them of spying for Israel, pistol-whipped
them, and
230A JACKAL IS BORN
promised to kill them before sunset. The Mercedes sped down
back alleys, through Arab slums, parts of the city that were offlimits to people like Jack, and then delivered them to a man sitting
calmly behind a desk.
"Thank God he was PLO, not one of the radical militias," Jack
told me. "I showed him the ticket stubs from the movie. I don't
know why but I'd stuck them in my pocket. He reprimanded his
men, said they'd made fools of themselves, and ordered them to
escort us out."
That experience convinced Jack to leave his city. However, he
headed into war, not away from it. "I learned that I could handle
violence," he confided. "Those kidnappers didn't scare me; they
pissed me off; they stirred my adrenaline." He took off for Africa.
"The continent was a powder keg, the sort of place where a
guy like me could make real money—and have some fun." Jack
and I were sitting on the patio of a South Florida Irish restaurant.
It was 2005. Although those times and places seemed distant, the
fact that Jack had just returned from Iraq, where he had completed
an assignment the U.S. military was prohibited from carrying out
itself, gave our discussion a contemporary perspective. "I'd kept
informed, talked with mercenaries who came through Beirut, read
my dad's TIME magazines. I knew what was going on. Back in
seventy-four Portugal did something that altered African history.
It opened a big door and I walked through."
I had traveled to neighboring Spain shortly after the
insurrection in Portugal overthrew a United States-friendly
dictatorship. The economic and military loses that accompanied
the wars for independence in Portugal's African colonies, the
debilitating illness of longtime dictator and corporatocracy
collaborator Antonio Salazar, and the coup staged by dissidents
within the armed forces that deposed Salazar's successor, Marcelo
Caetano, had turned a former ally onto the path of socialism. It
was an EHM failure that aroused grave c oticerns and sent me on
a fact-finding expedition.
"After the 'Carnation Revolution,'" Jack said, grimacing,
"Lisbon immediately freed her African colonies. All of them.
Suddenly and
EMPIRE
without warning. Brought the troops home. Hundreds of thousands of Portuguese citizens who'd lived in those colonies for
generations lost their lands, businesses, everything. They had to
flee for their lives, mostly to South Africa, Rhodesia, Brazil, or
back to Portugal. The old colonies had gained what they
wanted—independence—but now were left floundering. Of
course the Soviets stepped in to fill the gap. It was only a matter
of days before vital oil and gas resources fell to the communist
camp. After that, the liberation war against Ian Smith's Rhodesia
took off big-time."
Like Jack, I had seen that time as an opportunity to advance in
my profession. For him: the jackal route: for me: the EHM one. I
recalled how the march to empire was double-stepping forward in
places like Indonesia, Iran, and most of Latin America, but faced
serious obstacles in Vietnam, where U.S. and South Vietnamese
forces were in retreat, and Cambodia and Laos, where the Khmer
Rouge and Pathet Lao were gaining control. Until 1974, Africa
had been the great unknown. Independence movements were on
the rise; however, they were often split over where to turn for
help. Many of their leaders were reluctant to embrace
communism and antagonize the West. We EHMs were assessing
our options and jockeying for positions. MAIN had established
footholds in Zaire, Liberia, Chad, Egypt, and South Africa
(although in the latter we maintained a low profile due to growing
anti-Apartheid sentiments). Our agents were working diligently
on Nigeria and Kenya. I had recently completed a study that
established the viability of erecting a huge dam across the Congo
and using it to produce electricity to power mining operations and
industrial parks throughout central Africa.
Lisbon's precipitous decision to free her colonies changed
everything. It shifted the balance of power and threw the
Pentagon and Defense and State Departments into turmoil. Heated
debates over courses of action resulted in conflict among their
leaders, especially the Cabinet secretaries: William Rogers (196973) and Henry Kissinger (1974-77) at State and Melvin Laird
(1969-73},
232A JACKAL IS BORN
Elliot Richardson (1973), James Schlesinger (1973-75), and
Donald Rumsfeld (1975-77) at Defense. The weakened
presidencies of Nixon, mired in the Watergate scandal, and Ford,
who received the job by default rather than election, added to the
chaos. Washington was incapable of reaching consensus on how
to respond.
For the Africans the situation was unprecedented and
absolutely chaotic. Centuries of European struggles for
domination had left them with fabricated countries, borders that
suited foreign powers rather than cultural differences. Their
colonial rulers had done nothing to help them institutionalize
governmental and commercial sectors. They were ill-prepared to
accept the responsibilities of independence and ripe for
exploitation by anyone who could move swiftly to fill the
vacuums.
"We allowed the Soviets to come in like gangbusters." Jack
shot me a disgusted look. "Even China outmaneuvered us.
Moscow-sponsored Mozambique, a hotbed of Marxist terrorism,
trained thousands of Zimbabwe African National Liberation
Army recruits and sent them in packs to murder Rhodesian
farmers—blacks as well as whites. Zambia jumped aboard Mao's
bandwagon and set itself up as a staging site for raids into
Rhodesia. To me that little country was an underdog that needed
help. I landed in Rhodesia and joined its army."
Jack had always maintained that Rhodesia, unlike South
Africa, "wasn't a propagator of blockheaded Apartheid." The war
he joined was not, he argued, about whites versus blacks; it was a
battle of survival, pitting Rhodesia against neighbors who had
fallen under the Soviet spell.
Once there, the conclusions he had reached about himself after
his kidnapping by the PLO in Beirut were confirmed. "I
discovered I had a natural talent for soldiering. I joined the
Rhodesian Light Infantry Commandos, and later passed the
selection into the Special Air Service, SAS, an elite force. The
training was rigorous; the jobs even more so. One time, after
blowing up some bridges, we had to run for our lives for three
weeks, evading thousands of enemy troops. We were making
twenty miles a day through the mountains, ambushing them, and
moving on again. We had no backup that whole time and nearly
died of thirst."
He remembered his first kill. "A gook rushed from a clump of
trees shooting at me. I fired one shot—blew out his face. That
night I worried about his family. But the next time, I simply saw
an enemy, a man who wanted to kill me. Like anything else,
killing gets easier the more you do it."
After his time was up in the Rhodesian army, Jack became a
mercenary. "Opportunities were everywhere. By 1979 at least six
African countries were embroiled in 'liberation struggles': South
Africa, Angola, South-West Africa, Zambia, Mozambique, and
Rhodesia."
He headed for South Africa and was recruited by a fellow
jackal for one of the most dangerous operations of his life: an
assignment that exposed a great deal about the illicit activities of a
U.S. government few of its citizens understand. He was sent to
assassinate a president who had antagonized powerful men in
Washington and London.
234
44
The "Non-Peoples" of Diego Garcia
The determination to control African resources took on a new
urgency following the OPEC oil embargoes of the early 1970s
and the military debacles in Southeast Asia. Corporate executives
and their lobbyists flocked to Washington. They took advantage
of the confusion in the Nixon and Ford administrations and
Carter's preoccupation with Iran to demand international laws
guaranteeing them the right to what amounted to unfettered
exploitation of African resources, especially petroleum. The
executives also insisted on an extremely strong military
presence—one that would establish American hegemony and
protect shipping lanes, and could be used to bolster African
leaders who collaborated with the corporatocracy against the
wishes of their people.
Soviet and Chinese successes in Africa strengthened
arguments for a strong, militarized U.S. response. The press
inflamed the public with articles about the dire consequences of
communist incursions in Africa and of plans in Moscow and
Beijing for amassing secret forces to invade countries allied to
Washington. Television networks flashed images of junglehardened Cuban guerrillas training African "terrorists." Rumors
spread that Castro had dispatched the infamous Che Guevara to
mount massive attacks against U.S. mining operations.
The pressure on Washington was immense. The closure of the
Suez Canal and the introduction of supertankers buttressed the
case for a "fortress" to protect the shipping lanes that ran out of
Middle Eastern ports, through the Red Sea, Persian Gulf, and the
Arabian Sea, into the Indian Ocean, south along the length of
Africa, around the ('ape of Good Hope, and into the Atlantic.
Politicians jumped on
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the bandwagon. Social programs were sidetracked, money
diverted to the Pentagon. The decision was made to build a
fortress—a nuclear warhead-equipped airbase—on Aldabra
Island, off Africa's east coast.
"It would reinforce Simon's Town, the South African naval
installation near the Cape, of Good Hope," Jack explained.
"American nuclear subs used Simon's, far away from prying eyes,
to refit before returning to their long, lonely patrols in the South
Atlantic and Indian oceans. An air base north of Madagascar was
the perfect complement to Simon's."
However, once the project began to take form, planners
discovered that Aldabra was the breeding ground for rare giant
tortoises. Fearing adverse publicity from a growing ecological
movement, Washington redirected its efforts to nearby Diego
Garcia, the largest atoll in the Chagos chain, part of Mauritius,
then a British territory. Although there were no endangered turtles
on Diego Garcia, 1,800 people lived there, mostly descendents of
African slaves.
"It was unacceptable," Jack told me, "to have any people
inhabiting an atoll slated to become a state-of-the-art U.S. military
base."
In a 1970 deal brokered by EHMs and involving U.S. and
British intelligence agents, London forced Diego Garcia's
residents to abandon their homes. Every attempt was made to
maintain secrecy. According to the BBC:
British politicians, diplomats and civil servants began a campaign—
in their own words—"to maintain the pretence there were no
permanent inhabitants" on the islands. This was vital, because proper
residents would have to be recognized as people "whose democratic
rights have to be safeguarded" .. . The inhabitants therefore became
35
non-people.
Many of the islanders were hustled across the water to
neighboring Seychelles. England then leased an "uninhabited"
Diego Garcia to the U.S. government. In exchange, Washington
offered the British an $11 million subsidy on Polaris submarine
technology. The
236THE "NON-PEOPLES" OF DIEGO GARCIA
lives of island inhabitants and their homes had been valued at
about $600 a person.
The Pentagon rushed ahead to build its military base.
Developed to house B-52S and, later, the radar-evading B-2
(Stealth) heavy bombers, it would play a key role in U.S. empire
building, serving as a staging site for forays into the Middle East,
India, and Afghanistan, as well as Africa.
Despite its strategic importance, Diego Garcia remained lowprofile, a relatively unknown U.S. presence off the coast of
Africa. Few people are aware that protecting it was justification
for one of the most blatant assassination attempts ever undertaken
by CIA-sponsored jackals.
James Mancham had been elected the Seychelles' first
president after independence was declared on June 29, 1976. His
primary contact with Washington and London was by way of
South Africa, a staunch corporatocracy ally. Through the South
Africans, Mancham made it clear that he supported the Diego
Garcia deal; he offered to quietly absorb displaced islanders and
understood that he and his cronies would enjoy personal benefits
from the nearby military base. In the process, he also infuriated
many of his countrymen.
Seychelles citizens placed a high value on their newfound
nationalism. This sense of pride caused a backlash against
Mancham. I n addition to resenting his deference to the United
States and the United Kingdom, the islanders abhorred the role
their government had played in forcing their neighbors off their
lands, and resented the influx of people who threatened to take
their jobs and disrupt established social patterns. While Mancham
was visiting London, Prime Minister France-Albert Rene decided
to act. In a bloodless 1977 coup, he overthrew the president. He
then embarked on a program the BBC hailed as "aimed at giving
poorer people a greater share of the country's wealth."36 He also
proclaimed that Diego Garcia islanders should be allowed to
return to their homeland and voiced his objections to a U.S.
military base in Africa's backyard.
237
Washington flew into a frenzy, one that was kept invisible
from the voting public. While Jack Corbin was honing his skills
in Rhodesia, the corporatocracy plotted against Rene.
I was brought into the planning as Jack's EHM equivalent,
ready to take action once our leaders decided which route to
follow: subterfuge or assassination. Though in the end I was never
asked, as Jack was, to act against Rene, I was privy to
conversations that illuminate the depths to which the U.S.
government will sink to maintain its power base.
45
Assassinating a President
Jack Corbin was watching the turmoil in Seychelles from
Rhodesia. Gen. Chuck Noble and his friends in what Eisenhower
had defined as the military-industrial complex were watching
from Washington.
"Rene's chatter about helping the destitute is BS," Chuck said.
The former commanding general of the U.S. Army Engineer
Command in Vietnam had enjoyed a meteoric rise at MAIN—
from project manager to vice president to heir apparent to CEO
Mac Hall—in a dizzying couple of years. Despite my history of
avoiding the draft by joining the Peace Corps, he had taken me
under his wing. I was certain he had seen my National Security
Agency recruitment files; he valued me as a loyal EHM.
Whenever we traveled together to Washington, he invited me to
stay at the exclusive Army and Navy Club. This was one of those
times. We were sharing dinner in the formal dining room with
two other retired generals and one retired admiral—all working
for firms that did the corporatocracy's bidding.
"Rene's a Soviet puppet," Chuck continued. "He's got one mission. Throw us the hell out of Diego Garcia and turn it over to the
Russians. Then he'll invite the Cubans to join the Muscovites and
pretty soon the whole damn continent turns red."
The four military men questioned me extensively about my
nonviolent successes in places like Indonesia and Saudi Arabia. I
was impressed by the pragmatism of generals and admirals.
Unlike many politicians, they seemed to want to avoid warfare if
at all possible. Although the late seventies were a time when
political coups and assassinations against leftist leaders were
accepted Cold War weapons, high-ranking members of the armed
forces seemed more dedicated to the rule of law than their
counterparts in Congress and
EMPIRE
the White House. Perhaps they had learned from experience
that violence begets more violence; possibly they feared that
condoning such actions in other countries might lead to similar
strategies in their own that could backfire against them; or maybe
somewhere deep in their conscience they recalled the oaths they
had taken to defend democracy.
The admiral observed that Rene seemed "determined to follow
in Allende and Prat's footsteps."*37
All three generals immediately gave him stern glances. "Let's
not go there," one of them murmured. The conversation returned
to approaches that might be employed to bring Rene around to our
side. I was told to be prepared to fly to Seychelles at a moment's
notice.
One of the generals assigned a handsome young protege the
job of developing a relationship with the wife of a top Seychelles'
diplomat. The general had observed during the course of several
cocktail parties that she—in her mid-thirties—seemed bored by a
husband who was nearly twice her age. Sex as a tool of espionage
is not limited to professionals like the geishas I had met in
Jakarta. In my experience it is used with stunning results by a
variety of men and women in the service of building empire.
Confidences are betrayed during the heat of passion. A common
ploy for an EHM is to invoke love (or sex) as an excuse to plead
for inside information in order to help his or her "official" career.
"I just need a little information in order to get that promotion,"
goes the argument, or the more desperate, "I'm afraid I'll lose my
job if I can't find a way to help my boss learn something, just a
tidbit of news about. . ." When all else fails, blackmail usually
brings results; while spouses may lack access to the amounts of
cash perceived necessary to pay off an extortionist, they almost
always can provide information.
* The assassination of Gen. Carlos Prat, commander of the Chilean army, shortly after
that of President Allende, foreshadowed Operation Condor, a coordinated effort by
six South American military governments and U.S. jackals to hunt down and kill
oppo nents of the extreme right.
240ASSASSINATING A P.RESIDENT
My initial meeting with the generals and admiral was followed
by others in Washington and Boston. Although the individuals
sometimes changed, the profiles of those attending remained the
same: influential members of the military retired into high corporate positions or their understudies. Chuck attended several but,
always one to delegate, often left me to move forward on my
own.
The general with the handsome young protege had a long
association with Diego Garcia and initiated many of the meetings.
He reported back that his protege was making progress, although
not as quickly as had been expected. "He says she's horny as a cat
in heat, but wants to be assured that he loves her." The general
smirked at me. "I think your female counterparts have it easier
than you guys. At least they did in my case. I never demanded
love, just wanted to get inside the lady's panties. The difference
between men and women I guess. Hell, I'd hand over the keys to
the Pentagon for the right piece of ass."
Finally the protege had what the general referred to as "the
breakthrough we've been waiting for." The woman began to confide in him. Eventually he reported back the opposite of what we
wanted to hear: Rene would not be bought off. Still worse, he was
planning to go public with the clandestine removal of the inhabitants from Diego Garcia. "The lady says he's a very determined
man, maybe even an idealist." The general sighed. "Rene's talking
about a 'conspiracy'—apparently that's the word he uses:
conspiracy—going to spill the beans about the little game played
by London and Washington to make it look as though that place
was never occupied by those couple thousand ex-slaves. He's
pushing us to the limit."
I never knew how far up the chain of command this
information went or how many other people were involved in
attempting to corrupt the Seychelles' president. At that time,
besides being considered for the Seychelles case, I was bogged
down in my own efforts to bring Torrijos of Panama and Roldos
of Ecuador around. Because they refused to comply, these two
Latin leaders died in plane crashes,
241
CIA-orchestrated assassinations, before midyear 1981. In
November of that same year, the EHMs were pulled off the
Seychelles case. The order none of us wanted to hear was given.
Jack Corbin and a group of elite mercenaries were sent in to
assassinate President Rene.
46
The Highjacking of an Air India 707
"We assembled a team of about forty top-notch jackals in
Durban, South Africa." Jack said. "Our cover was the 'Ancient
Order of the Froth Blowers,' a rugby-playing, beer-quaffing
charity that brought Christmas toys to the children of the
Seychelles, which happens to be predominantly Catholic. The
plan was pretty straightforward. We would split up and then reassemble in Swaziland, fly in a Royal Swazi jet to Victoria, the
capital city on the island of Mahe, and proceed to our hotels
where we would meet up with the advance team, including a few
women who had been hand-selected to cull out vital information
from higher-ups.
"Our weapons and gear were cached on the island, so we
didn't have to worry about being caught at customs, either in
Swaziland or Mahe. This was really important to the guys. We
were told there was a Seychellois movement, mostly local cops,
ready to help out and act as our guides. But all the fighting would
be up to us.
"The main opposition would come from several hundred
Tanza-nian soldiers brought in by Rene and stationed near the
airport. Rhodesian experience taught us that the Tanzoons were
serious fighters, tough and tenacious, real threats, especially since
they outnumbered us five or six to one. On the appointed night,
early in the morning, four of us would creep into their barracks
while they slept and machine-gun the lot of them. This would
signal the uprising. We'd then take the radio station and the
presidential palace simultaneously, and blast a prerecorded
message from Mancham across the airwaves announcing his
return to power. He'd call on his people to stay inside and remain
calm.
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"The Kenyan Army would have an aircraft loaded with paratroopers standing by in Nairobi. Once the radio station call went
out, they'd go airborne, arriving shortly after first light to put an
African face on the coup, take the credit for all the mischief.
Before the press arrived, we'd quietly disappear, flying
commercial airliners back to South Africa."
The jackal team never got within sight of the presidential
palace. The plan fell apart at the Mahe airport when a security
guard spotted an assault rifle that one of the team members had
stowed in his luggage. At the last moment, some of them had
been told to bring weapons, but why he had been so careless in
packing would be a matter of intense speculation for years to
come.
A furious gun battle ensued. Jack described it as one of the
rare experiences in his career when he felt he might not escape
with his life—and had time to think about it. "We were
surrounded there in the airport. We had only a few magazines for
our weapons, from the accomplices who'd been waiting for us and
one or two grabbed from airport security. We captured more
weapons and ammo from the troops we ambushed who were
rushing back to their barracks on the other side of the airport.
Some of the guys attacked the Tan-zanian barracks, but that
attempt failed. There was a lot of fighting throughout the night. It
was getting pretty desperate, as more Tan-zoons were moving in."
Then one of his team up in the control tower heard an Air
India commercial jetliner requesting permission to land, while
asking why the runway lights were off. The mercenaries
immediately turned on the lights and granted the pilot permission
to land, explaining that the lights had been out due to "technical
problems, now resolved."
"There was a telephone discussion between us and the
Seychel-lois authorities. They agreed to a cease-fire if we would
board the aircraft and leave the island. Most of us favored
climbing on that damn plane; with daylight only an hour away,
surrounded, and hearing that Russian warships had arrived in the
harbor or were on
244THE HIGHJACKING OF AN AIR INDIA 707
the way, I didn't see any other option. The decision was made
to go. We refueled the plane, a Boeing 707, loading the body of
one of our men who had been killed earlier, along with most of
the personal gear into the cargo bay. Several guys decided to stay
behind rather than face the possibility of being sitting ducks in an
airplane. The rest of us boarded; as we took off the Tanzanians
and Seychellois did their best to shoot us down, filling the sky
with tracers in a wild send-off. Next stop was Durban, South
Africa. When the dust settled, we had one dead, seven of us
missing, captured, and taken prisoner, including one of the
women accomplices."
On landing in Durban, the Air India plane was surrounded by
South African security forces. Radio contact was made and the
head of security soon discovered that the plane had been
commandeered by his buddies. Jack surrendered, along with the
rest of the team. After a brief prison stay, he was quietly released.
The Seychelles government arrested the seven they had captured
at the airport. Charges against the woman were dropped. Four of
the men were sentenced to death; the other two to prison terms of
ten and twenty years. The South African government immediately
opened negotiations for their release. In the end, it was reported
that Pretoria paid the Seychelles $3 million to set them free, or
$500,000 each.
Although ostensibly a failure, the Seychelles Case amounted
to a corporatocracy success. Despite extensive media coverage of
the highjacking and subsequent trials, the United States and
Britain managed to avoid most of the controversy; South Africa
took the heat. Rene, who had posed such a threat, became more
cooperative, tempering his policies toward Diego Garcia,
Washington, London, and Pretoria; he remained in power for
another three decades, until 2004 when his former vice president,
James Michel, won a five-year term in national elections The U.S.
military base continues to play a significant role in Africa, Asia,
and the Middle East.
It is a standing joke among jackals that their value is clearly
defined: about ten times that of the average Diego Garcia islander.
245
47
An Environmentalist Is Executed
The Seychelles story is a dramatic case of an attempted
assassination of a head of state—particularly remarkable because
it involved a massive force of mercenaries and resulted in the
highjacking of a commercial airliner. It also underscores the fact
that such tactics generally are undertaken only when EHMs have
failed.
In Africa, the EHM failures are many; therefore,
assassinations have played a major role in the politics of that
continent. Although most have been conducted in secret, some
have taken the guise of legal executions. Perhaps the most famous
in this category is that of Ken Saro-Wiwa.
Saro-Wiwa was a Nigerian environmentalist and member of
the Ogoni tribe who led the movement against the exploitation of
his homeland by oil companies. In 1994 he was interviewed by
Amy Goodman on Paciflca radio station WBAI, New York:
Ken Saro-Wiwa: [Shell Oil Company] decided they should keep an eye
on me, and watch wherever I go to. Follow me constantly to ensure
that I do not embarrass Shell. So as far as I'm concerned, I'm a
marked man . . . Early this year, on the second of January to be
precise, I was placed under house arrest with my entire family for
three days. In order to stop a planned protest against Shell—300,000
Ogoni people were going to move to protest the devastation of the
environment by Shell and the other multinational oil companies. . ..
All they did was simply send the military authorities to my house.
They disconnected my telephones, confiscated the handsets, and I
was held for three days, without food.
246AN ENVIRONMENTALIST IS EXECUTED
Ken Saro-Wiwa was arrested again later that year and tried by
the government of Sani Abacha—a pro-corporatocracy dictator—
in what many observers described as a "kangaroo court." On
November 10,1995, Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight of his fellow
environmentalists were hanged.
The executed leader's son, Ken Wiwa, appeared on Amy
Goodman's Democracy Now! in 2005:
Ken Wiwa: My father didn't bear grudges, it's not in the nature of my
family or my community to bear grudges. We believe that Shell was
part of the problem and must be part of the solution. We still feel that
with some kind of dignity and a commitment to social justice that the
situation could still be salvaged. But it's been almost ten years since
my father was executed . .. Not a single member of the Nigerian
military, which invaded Ogoni, conducted extrajudicial murders,
raped young girls, women, all in the name of trying to suppress the
protest of our organization so that oil could resume, not one member
38
of the military has been arrested . . .
Assassinations, whether carried out by jackals like Jack
Corbin or in the courts of dictatorial governments, have an
enormous negative impact on social and environmental
movements. The fear of arrest, torture, and death—and its effect
on families and communities—has convinced many reformers to
abandon their campaigns. That fact is certainly not lost on the
corporatocracy.
Today, as I write this sentence, Jack and other members of the
Seychelles team are plying their trade in Iraq. Under the pretense
of "defending democracy," they conduct operations designed to
protect the facilities of U.S. corporations that are reaping windfall
profits. Similar to EHMs, they work for private firms hired by the
State Department, Pentagon, or through one of the accounts
hidden among the "black lists" of the intelligence community.
According to their contracts, they provide "security services" and
"management consulting."39
The sad story of the displaced people of Diego Garcia
continues. In the last years of the twentieth century, the exiled
islanders launched a campaign to return to their homes. Claiming
physical and emotional suffering for the thirty years of poverty,
dispossession, and exile, they sought compensation as well as
titles to their lands.
One of their barristers, Sir Sydney Kentridge QC, referred to
the original deal as "a very sad and by no means creditable
episode in British history." The BBC decried it as a scandal that
"involves 'bribes' from the United States, racism among senior
civil servants, and the UK Government deceiving parliament and
the United Nations."*0
In 2000, a London court "ruled that the deportation was
illegal. . . But the government does not want the islanders back on
Diego Garcia which could be used as a base for a U.S. attack on
Iraq."*1
The stories of the attempted coup in Seychelles and the
plundering of Diego Garcia are extremely disturbing, especially
considering that they were carried out under the pretext of
defending democracy. Tragic as they were, however, they pale
beside the crimes that were perpetrated throughout so much of the
rest of the continent—and continue today.
248
48
The Least Understood Continent
]ack was one of many jackals and EHMs I spent time with
following the publication of Confessions. Given the abuses
carried out for the corporatocracy on every continent, I often
wondered why my conversations with them turned so frequently
to Africa.
The men and women who have been so intimately involved in
shaping the last four decades of world history seem absorbed by
activities on that continent: the United States' role in the
assassination of Patrice Lumumba in the Congo, our support of
dictators like Jonas Savimbi in Angola, Mobutu Sese Seko and
Laurent Kabila in the Congo, Abacha and Olusegun Obasanjo in
Nigeria, and Samuel Doe in Liberia, as well as recent atrocities in
Rwanda, the Sudan, and Liberia. Some were distressed by the
failure of the Clinton administration's "African Renaissance,"
which most agreed was a not-so-subtle ploy to support one
ruthless strongman after another. They talked at length about
more recent attempts to forgive debt in many countries, of the
Bush administration's determination to craft this seemingly
generous act into the latest and most subtle EHM trick to promote
the rule of the corporatocracy.
They came to me after reading my book because they too had
been sucked in, taught at business and law schools that progress
demands approaches that sometimes seem inconsistent with
democracy but are required as a means to the end, and because
they were skilled warriors in need of employment. They had
bought the company line, were either lulled into believing it or
accepted that it served their best interests, or both. And now, like
me, they were haunted, racked with guilt. They wanted to talk, to
confess, to share
EMPIRE
their stories with a sympathetic listener and perhaps to do
something to redeem themselves.
These men and women knew only too well that the people of
the United States have been deceived and that they themselves
were the instruments of deception. Despite political rhetoric, the
African continent is poorer today than it was when I lived in
Alexandria, Jack headed for Rhodesia, and many of the others
were starting their careers thirty years ago. Forty-three of the
fifty-three African nations suffer from chronic hunger and low
income levels; famine and drought periodically plague large
areas; mineral resources are exploited by foreign industries that
take advantage of lax regulations and corrupt officials to avoid
investing their profits locally, thus perpetuating weak economies
and incompetent governments; people are driven to violence,
ethnic conflict, and Civil War; three million children die each
year from hunger and hunger-related diseases; the average life
expectancy for the continent is forty-six, approximately that of the
United States in 1900; and 45 percent of the population is under
the age of fifteen but will never realize their productive potentials
because of hunger, cholera, yellow fever, malaria, tuberculosis,
polio, HIV/AIDS, and war. Nearly thirty million Africans suffer
from HIV, and millions of children have been orphaned by AIDS.
The problems that confront Africa are by no means new; theii
roots stretch back to the colonialism that began with the Age of
Exploration and continued through the first half of the twentieth
century.
"I've got no idea where I come from," James, a man holding a
middle-management position at the World Bank, told me in 2005,
summing up a dilemma that he suggested symbolizes the plight of
the entire continent. "My great-great-grandparents were dragged
out of their homes and brought here as slaves. Unlike the Latum
Asians, and Middle Easterners living in the States, I find it haul M
relate to my own background. I don't even know what language
my forefathers spoke."
250THE LEAST UNDERSTOOD CONTINENT
The slave trade was arguably the most horrific and destructive
act by men against men in a long history of human brutality. Add
to it the ruthless repression of indigenous cultures, the influence
of literature, art, and film that frequently portrayed the native
peoples as less-than-human savages, the diversity of the colonial
powers that swarmed Africa, and the outright attempts to divide,
conquer, and exploit and it becomes tempting to conclude that
Africa is the most thoroughly abused and the least understood
region on the planet today.
Countries in Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East are
interwoven with common threads. Africa is a tangled knot. Its
history, geography, cultures, religions, politics, crops, and natural
resources are discordant. This engenders a sense of
separateness—even isolation—that in turn facilitates exploitation
from within as well as from the outside. In many countries the
colonial masters of the past, the European elites, have simply
been replaced by native African elites. They follow patterns
established by their predecessors and openly collaborate with
foreign executives who wantonly ravage the land and its people.
While identifying historical trends may help define future options, faulting past eras for current inequities merely postpones attempts at reaching solutions. The EHM and jackal men and
women I met with know beyond any doubt that responsibility for
the current endemic poverty lies at the feet of the post-World War
II empire builders. They also understand the importance of talking
and writing about Africa. They accept that we now must take on
the tasks of spreading the word and insisting on change.
Since Africa is the least understood continent, it is also the one
most easily ignored and therefore vulnerable to plunder. A
majority of participants at my speaking engagements raise their
hands when 1 ask if they know something about Bolivia,
Venezuela, Vietnam, Indonesia, or any country I name in the
Middle East. But I see few hands when I ask about Angola,
Gabon, or Nigeria. This is not because the African countries are
unimportant to us. Nigeria is the
EMPIRE
fifth-largest supplier of U.S. oil, Angola is sixth, and Gabon
tenth. Nigeria has the ninth-largest population in the world—just
before Japan (tenth) and Mexico (eleventh).
U.S. ignorance about Africa is ingrained in our educational
systems, including the mainstream media. It is calculated.
Because we do not know, we do not care. Because we do not care,
these countries are open territory for mistreatment, even more
than those that fall within our radar. We have read about Bolivia;
so it takes an effort to convince us that Evo Morales is a radical
cocaine-growing socialist instead of the nationalistic farmer
Bolivians overwhelmingly voted into office. However, no one has
to convince us of anything about African leaders; they are
essentially invisible to us, non-persons like the Diego Garcia
islanders. Invisible people can be driven off their lands,
imprisoned, and executed.
"I'm ashamed to be an American whenever I travel to Africa,"
James confessed. "Africans ask if my people in the States know
about them. Did we hear about the millions of children who have
died in the wars? The orphans and amputees? The locust
invasion? The floods and droughts? I can't bear to admit the truth.
We don't know. Most Americans simply don't care. Even African
Americans." He rubbed his hands over his eyes. "And you know
what's one of the worst aspects of this? The agencies that are
supposed to be the good guys are part of the game. I'm not just
talking about the World Bank either. The deception includes some
of the nonprofits, the NGOs."
252
49
NGOs: A Stake in Keeping Africa Poor
"Are we being used?" Jenny Williams asked, referring to her
work with NGOs in Africa. "Are the concepts of aid and
development simply tools in the arsenal of the West, wielded not
for the sake of charity but for the sake of control?"
I had become acquainted with Jenny during the editing of
Confessions. An intern at Berrett-Koehler, my hardcover
publisher, she offered brilliant insights—and then headed off to
travel across Africa and work for a nonprofit that runs both
emergency relief and development projects in Uganda and Sudan.
"I was fed up with the hypocrisy of the West and tired of
being an armchair critic," she said. "I wanted to actually get on
the ground and do something, see for myself what was happening
with all that aid money."
I found her perspective especially interesting because growing
up in San Diego, graduating from UC Berkeley in 2004, she had
been subjected all her life to the media hype that promotes
habituated consumerism and the idea that foreign aid helps the
poor. She, like my daughter, Jessica, represents the generation
that will lead us into the future.
The e-mail she sent from Uganda in September 2006
continued:
The signs of Westernization in Africa are constant and clear:
"Coca-Cola" plastered across kiosks in drought-ridden Northern
Kenya; the proliferation of American rap and hip-hop
paraphernalia among impoverished African youth; people
drinking imported instant coffee instead of locally grown beans
because "it tastes better" when, in fact, it's because their own
products are more expensive due to corporatocracy-imposed
tariffs and taxes.
EMPIRE
I'm sure corporations would have seen Africa as ripe for
consuming regardless, but NGOs are part of the machine that
sustains Westernization. From leadership styles to ex-pat salaries,
NGOs enforce Western cultural, social, and economic standards
that create a gap between aid workers and the people they're
trying to serve—a gap that Africans are constantly striving to
narrow by emulating the foreigners. Western values overturn
cultural beliefs and send local economic systems into upheaval.
Another dilemma: in Northern Uganda, a region ravaged by
twenty years of rebel warfare that has left thousands of people
killed and nearly two million displaced, NGOs have been accused
of prolonging the conflict simply by being there. As long as the
situation is considered an "emergency," donors will continue
funding activities and NGOs will continue flocking to the scene to
care for people living in horrifying conditions in squalid camps.
(One Ugandan radio station joked that "there are more NGOs
than boda-bodas"—motorcycle taxis that crowd the streets of
every city.)
There's no question that the Ugandans living in these camps—
some for ten years or more—would be dying in even greater
numbers without the provision of boreholes for wells, sanitation,
educational facilities, and food relief by NGOs. But because of
the NGO presence, both the Ugandan government and the West
have been able to shirk responsibility for ending the fighting that
has stalled the development of an entire region. The peace talks
happening now, in the summer of 2006, are long overdue.
"We're like a fig leaf that Western governments hide behind
when they don't have—or want—a diplomatic or political
solution," one coworker told me. "In any conflict, any crisis, who
goes in first? Aid organizations of course, so the West can say
'look, we're doing something,' even if they don't really want to
solve the real problems in the end."
Ultimately, it's not just that the West is apathetic or has no
motivation to solve conflicts, it's that the West has a real stake in
keeping Africa poor. People in Western countries have sincere
feelings of charity and they have faith that aid works—but
Western governments and multi-national corporations reap
enormous benefits from the continued instability and destitution
of African countries. The successful manipulation of cheap
254NGOS: A STAKE IN KEEPING AFRICA POOR
labor and agricultural products, smuggled resources, and
arms trading relies on corrupt politicians, prolonged warfare,
and an underdeveloped civil society that lacks the capacity to
stand up for its rights. If there were peace and transparency in the
Congo, it would be much more difficult—if not impossible—-for
foreign corporations to exploit the mineral resources; if there
were no rebel groups or tribal conflicts, there would be no market
for small arms.
Not all causes of poverty or violence are directly linked to
Western motives. Corruption among African leaders and latent
tribal tensions play a big role in poor governance and the disunity
of African people. But I believe if the West truly wanted to see a
stable, developed Africa, the continent would be well on its way.
Instead, the situation is worse after decades of Western
involvement and billions of dollars of aid money.
I fully believe that most aid workers are honest, hard-working
people who want to help vulnerable and marginalized people in
developing countries. They—we—-are up against a system that is
difficult to comprehend and still harder to fight. Yet, that is
exactly the point. We must change this system.
Jenny is not alone in her commitment to understanding the
situation and working to change it. University students and recent
graduates around the United States seem to understand the
problems confronting their generation better than their parents
did. When they travel abroad, they often shun the old
destinations—Paris, Rome, Athens—and head instead for Africa,
Asia, and Latin America. They attend rallies and conferences, like
the World Social Forums, and they mix with the local people.
They play music, dance, drink beer, and fall in love. But, above
all, they discuss world politics, compare ideas, and plan.
Something that even the most environmentally and socially
aware members of that generation might not realize, however, is
that another widely accepted trait of their generation—
dependence on cellular and computer technology—is destroying
the lives of millions of people.
255
50
Laptops, Cell Phones, and Cars
Four million people have been killed in what is
euphemistically called the Democratic Republic of the Congo
(formerly Zaire) since 1998. They have died so that wealthier
people can buy inexpensive computers and cell phones. Although
the country won its independence from Belgium in i960, it soon
fell under Washington's influence. TIME magazine, in a 2006
cover story entitled "The Deadliest War In The World," stated
bluntly that Congo's "first elected Prime Minister (Lumumba) had
been killed by Belgian- and U.S.-backed opponents because of his
growing ties to the Soviet Union."42
After Lumumba's assassination, army general Mobutu Sese
Seko eventually took control. In TIME'S words, "A U.S. favorite
during the cold war, Mobutu presided over one of the most
corrupt regimes in African history."
Mobutu's long rule was ruthless, as well as corrupt, and deeply
disturbing to neighboring countries. In 1996 and 1997, Rwanda
and Uganda sent soldiers into Congo, overthrew Mobutu, and installed the rebel leader, Laurant Kabila, as its new president.
However, social and economic conditions deteriorated rapidly
under Kabila's administration. Uganda and Rwanda invaded again
in 1998. Six other countries, seeing this as an opportunity to take
advantage of Congo's rich resources, joined what became known
as Africa's first world war.
Ethnic, cultural, and tribal conflicts played a role in the war;
however, mostly it is a struggle over resources. According to
TIME: Congo "soils are packed with diamonds, gold, copper,
tantalum (known locally as coltan and used in electronic devices
such as cell phones and laptop computers) and uranium." The
country is vast—about one
256LAPTOPS, CELL PHONES, AND CARS
and a half times the size of Alaska—and is covered in many
places with lush tropical forests and fertile agricultural lands. As I
had discovered in conducting my studies of this region, the waters
of the Congo River have the potential of providing hydroelectric
power to much of the continent.4'
Without Congo's tantalum, we would not have many of our
computer-based products (for example, a tantalum shortage
resulted in the scarcity of the Sony PlayStation 2 during the 2000
Christmas season). Militias from Rwanda and Uganda may justify
invasions on the grounds that they are defending their people
against rebels, but they earn billions of dollars from the tantalum
they collect and smuggle across borders during these raids.
EHMs, jackals, and government agents from the United States,
the United Kingdom, and South Africa constantly flame the fires
of conflict. Fortunes are made from arms sales to all sides. War
enables corporations to dodge the scrutiny of human rights and
environmental groups and avoid paying taxes and tariffs.
Congo is but one of many places where similar things are
happening. U.S. congresswoman Cynthia McKinney (D-Georgia)
exposed many aspects of this "Anglophone conspiracy" during a
hearing she chaired on April 16, 2001. Her opening statement included the following indictment:
Much of what you will hear today has not been widely reported
in the public media. Powerful forces have fought to suppress these
stories from entering the public domain.
The investigations into the activities of Western governments
and Western businessmen in post-colonial Africa provide clear
evidence of the West's long-standing propensity for cruelty, avarice,
and treachery. The misconduct of Western nations in Africa is not
due to momentary lapses, individual defects, or errors of common
human frailty. Instead, they form part of long-term policy designed
to access and plunder Africa's wealth at the expense of its people.
EMPIRE
... at the heart of Africa's suffering is the West's, and most notably
the United States', desire to access Africa's diamonds, oil, natural
gas, and other precious resources ... the West, and most notably the
United States, has set in motion a policy of oppression,
destabilization and tempered, not by moral principle, but by a
ruthless desire to enrich itself on Africa's fabulous wealth . ..
Western countries have incited rebellion against stable African
governments ... have even actively participated in the assassination
of duly elected and legitimate African Heads of State and replaced
44
them with corrupted and malleable officials.
Although the United Nations has committed to halting the
bloodshed in Congo (in the summer of 2006, the largest U.N.
force in the world was stationed there), the United States and
other G8 countries have not cooperated. In TIME'S words:
... the world has been willing to let Congo bleed. Since 2000, the
U.N. spent billions on its peacekeeping mission in Congo ... In
February the U.N. and aid groups working in Congo asked for $682
million in humanitarian funds. So far, they have received just $94
45
million—or $9.40 for every person in need.
The violence is not contained within borders. Congo's
neighbor, the Darfur region of Sudan, is experiencing a similar
nightman Two million people have died in a war that has raged
for twenty yean This one is fed in part by that most coveted of
resources, oil. Although the conflict is rooted in old religious and
ethnic antagonisms that reached new levels in the 1980s and
1990s, the violence has been used and exacerbated by EHMs and
jackals to mask activities aim at seizing control of the oil fields.
The fighting and social turmoil also facilitate the trafficking of
human beings. In recent years roughly a quarter of a million
Sudanese have been kidnapped as slaves, many, like the mother
of my Alexandria friends Sammy and Samantha, sold into the sex
trade. Most people in the "civilized" world believe that such
practices ended in the nineteenth century; they did not.
258
One justification for doing so little to help the Sudanese is the
country's reputation as a training ground for terrorists. Sudan was
the refuge of Osama bin Laden after he was expelled from Saudi
Arabia in 1992 and is considered the birthplace of al-Qaeda. It is
easy for the media to write it off as an ally of the "axis of evil."
Congo and Sudan are examples of countries caught up in
classic resource grabs. War and poverty facilitate the perpetuation
of systems that exploit natural resources and cheap labor while
corrupting local politicians.
Another African country offers an example of the more subtle
empire-building approach witnessed in Kenya and Uganda by
Jenny Williams: the role of NGOs. In some respects the story of
two young Americans who joined the Peace Corps because they
were determined to help Africans is even more shocking than
Jenny's. It uncovers what some consider a conspiracy between
U.S. policy makers, foreign governments, NGOs, and the huge
agribusiness industry.
51
Ex-Peace Corps Volunteers Offer Hope
Mali, a landlocked country in northwest Africa, at first appears
benign, one of those places no one cares about, neglected even by
empire builders. That appearance is deceptive; in the deception
lies a key to corporatocracy strategies on the African continent.
Mali won its independence from France in i960 and is now a
republic; about a third of its people (twelve million) live in the
capital city of Bamako; 80 percent of the workforce is employed
by the agricultural sector; 90 percent are classified as Muslim, 9
percent indigenous/animist, 1 percent Christian; it has deposits of
gold, uranium, bauxite, and other minerals. Its former president,
Alpha Konare, bought the World Bank plan and implemented
measures that revived the economy, primarily through cotton and
gold production. He also honored a constitutional provision
barring third terms. Amadou Toure was elected president with 65
percent of Unvotes in 2002.
If I ask how many people in my audiences know about Mali, I
almost never see a hand. However, when I spoke at a fund-raiser
for a public library in Dover, Vermont, a town near my New
England home, I met a young couple who had lived in Mali and
who love t Inland and her people deeply. We corresponded after
that and spent time together chatting on a terrace at my house,
overlooking the Berkshire mountains. The story Greg and Cindy
told me was not merely moving, it represented so much that is
beautiful, tragic, ami encouraging about modern-day Africa. They
bring an American voice to a country and continent that for most
Americans is a bllU I >l confusing images. Their commitment to
the future—their own and their Malian friends'—is inspirational.
260EX-PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEERS OFFER HOPE
Greg Flatt was stationed in Mali as a Peace Corps volunteer
from 1997 to 1999. He returned on his own in 2000 to record an
album with Malian musicians. Songs from that album Zou tt
Moctar "La Sauce" hit Number 1 on Mali's charts and Greg
became a celebrity throughout the country. Cindy Hellmann was a
Peace Corps volunteer from 1999 to 2001. She met Greg while he
was there recording the album.
"How could I miss him?" she asked, laughing. "People
recognized him everywhere. They stopped him on the streets,
broke into dance, and played air guitar. Children followed him
like the Pied Piper." She and Greg married three years later.
They had joined the Peace Corps at different times, but for
similar reasons. Before entering careers in the United States, they
wanted to learn about other countries and cultures. They aspired
to the ideal of making a contribution to the world, an ideal
expressed by John F. Kennedy when he created the Peace Corps
before either of them was born. They each held a vision of a
better future for the family they hoped to raise one day, and they
recognized that such a future had to embrace the world.
Both also had long-standing interests in agriculture. Cindy
grew up on a large family farm in Indiana and Greg loved tending
his mother's garden. They told me that the Peace Corps made it
sound appropriate for them to accept assignments teaching
Malians about farming. "We were naive enough to believe them."
Greg scowled.
I felt an immediate kinship with this young couple. Through
their eyes it was easy to see why the modern empire has spread so
quickly and so surreptitiously. Cindy and Greg had joined the
Peace Corps with the best of motives. They figured they had skills
to offer and that by working with U.S. government agencies and
international organizations like the World Bank they could help
bring prosperity to Africa. Instead, they discovered they were
playing a very different role; they were being used to pave the
way for a new type of empire, to lay the foundations for another
wave of exploitation. The first inklings of the deception hit them
when they saw
EMPIRE
that their assignment was to teach people things that those
people knew more about than they did.
"The Malians we worked with were farmers," Greg said. "Can
you imagine the gall it takes for a U.S. agency like the Peace
Corps to send a bunch of kids to tell experienced farmers how to
farm their own land? How does that look to the Malians?"
Despite feelings of guilt and confusion, both admitted that
they had benefited immensely from their Peace Corps tours. They
learned about customs, languages, and music, and about the
subject they had gone there to teach: farming.
"Cindy and I decided to return to Mali in 2005 with another
development organization, Opportunities Industrialization Centers
International [OICI], as consultants in their Farm Serve Africa
program. This USAID-funded organization sends American
farmers who volunteer their time and skills to teach rural farmers
in Africa improved agricultural techniques."
"I thought," Cindy said, "that this would be different from
Peace Corps because by that time I now had been a farmer. I had
expertise. And I knew Mali. But to my dismay I found that I was
still participating in a top-down approach. I felt like I had stolen
money from Malians, who could have earned decent wages
teaching the same things more effectively. Who am I? They know
the market, they know so much. Farm Serve spent a lot of money
to get us there: airfare, transportation, medical insurance, and
some living expenses. We were supposed to be agricultural
experts, consultants. But I sat in the village where I had been sent,
frustrated, asking myself what I was doing. The amount of money
spent on my being there in this role would support a rural Malian
family for years."
Their suspicions increased as they became aware of the harm
caused by Genetically Modified Organisms (GMOs) and of the
collusion between U.S. agencies and the big businesses that
produce and market GMOs. Farm families that had lived off the
land for hundreds of years, saving seeds to replant their crops,
were now
becoming dependent on fertilizers, pesticides, and seeds they
had to purchase from foreign companies.
"One evening, a large group of locals invited Greg and me to
join them as they gathered around the one TV in the village. An
advertisement for an anti-GMO conference showed images of
Malian farmers taking to the streets in protest over the
introduction of GMO crops, mainly cotton. We looked at each
other and knew that we had to participate in this conference. We
left the very next day. It was amazing: a weeklong conference on
GMO crops, cotton subsidies, and African agricultural heritage. It
was attended by farmers representing Mali, Guinea, Burkina Faso,
Togo, Benin, and Gambia, as well as academics, scientists,
activists, and politicians. There were countless testimonials of
disenfranchised farmers suffering the consequences of unfair
trade policies. There was also a great deal of education about the
economic, environmental, cultural, and political dangers posed by
GMO crops.46 And many discussions around the fact that USAID
and Monsanto were working together to rewrite Malian
legislation. We learned directly from someone inside USAIDMali that the U.S. government agency is working with Monsanto
to write into the Malian constitution language that will allow the
introduction, sale, and patent rights of GMO crops.
"At the conference," Cindy continued, "we also discovered
more about the ravaging effects of U.S. cotton subsidies on
Malian farmers. By allowing American farmers to sell their cotton
at artificially low prices, our government undercuts African
producers in world markets. African farmers often have to store
their cotton for a year or more and then may be forced to sell at
rock-bottom prices, or not at all. To make matters worse, our
'experts' are persuading farmers to shift from food crops to cotton,
as a cash crop. In an attempt to boost production, farmers acquire
seeds, pesticides, herbicides, newer plows, and fertilizer on credit,
and this sends them deeper Into debt to the CMDT [Compagnie
Malienne pour le Development iles Textiles], which has a virtual
monopoly on cotton production
EMPIRE
and marketing in Mali. The CMDT is a 'partnership' between
the Malian government and a French company, CFDT
[Compagnie Fran-cais pour le Development des Textiles]. The
French partners own sixty percent of the company."
"So Americans aren't alone." Greg gave the hint of a smile.
"After all, the French got into this business while we were still
part of England. But today, I'm ashamed to say, our country is the
leader. Participants in the conference passionately expressed their
anger toward the U.S. government and transnational corporations
with their manipulative policies. Fierce, heart-wrenching pain and
anger. You could almost feel it in the air. It made my hair stand
on end.
"Cindy and I concluded that economic development in Mali is
driven by corporate interests. The faces of the development
organizations appear benevolent. They depict themselves as aid
organizations that work to improve the lives of these folks.
However, the publicity campaigns serve to mask their true
intentions, the control of natural and human resources and the
domination of markets. Because economic development in Mali is
corporate driven, the process is not democratic. The great
majority of programs are not requested, initiated, managed, or
governed by Malians. The results are often devastating, leaving
Mali in worse economic and social situations than before.
Furthermore, the development industry has created a large sector
of highly paid foreigners who live luxurious lives and who are out
of touch with the very people they are supposed to serve."
"On the other hand," Cindy added, "the myth of development
is alive and well in the U.S.A. This myth paints a picture of
people in Africa and other 'Third World' countries as ignorant,
backward, helpless, stupid, and incapable of managing their own
lives. That belief creates a sense of superiority and power. It
generates feelings of otherness, of us versus them."
Greg and Cindy told me that they intend to create a foundai
ion dedicated to truly participatory, democratic, and sustainable
development in Mali, with a focus on organic agriculture,
cooperatives, and
fair trade. But they will do so only if they are certain that it
will be a partnership that honors Malian knowledge and wisdom.
"Such an organization," Cindy emphasized, "would pay
Africans to teach their own people. A Malian's average annual
income is about $400. We figure that for the cost of a single
Peace Corps volunteer to receive training, travel expenses, health
coverage, and a stipend, we could pay dozens of locals a very
good wage, by their standards. And they would do a better job."
We talked about the importance of distinguishing between
NGOs that perpetuate the existing system and those that are
genuinely committed to changing it. "In general," Greg said, "the
good ones work directly with local people—the little guys. Their
employees speak the language and live like their constituents."
I pointed out that the best NGOs—including those discussed
in the next section of this book—are often dedicated to turning
corporations into good citizens through changing by-laws and
operating policies. They also help the rest of us understand the
implications of our lifestyles and the responsibility we have to
take positive actions.
We agreed that while "bad" NGOs are servants of the empire,
"good" NGOs offer the promise of a better world for future
generations.
265
52
Resolved: To Turn Things Around
Every story about Africa hinges on deception. From Egypt to
Mali to Diego Garcia, subterfuge and denial are the keys to the
American Empire's policies. It is as ruthless as any in history. It
has enslaved more people and its policies and actions have
resulted in more deaths than those under the imperial regimes of
Rome, Spain, Portugal, France, England, and Holland or at the
hands of Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler, and yet its crimes go
almost unnoticed, disguised in the robes of eloquent rhetoric. Our
educational systems and media actively participate in this
conspiracy of lies. So, while Asia teaches us about the pitfalls of
IMF and World Bank policies, Latin America lights the way
toward democracy, and the Middle East exposes the extent to
which neocolonialism has failed, Africa serves up what may turn
out to be the most important lesson of all. Facing west toward
America, Africa cups her hands around her mouth—where the
Niger Delta joins the Bay of Guinea—and shouts out: Be Aware!
Be alert and diligent. Take action.
Africa is a fitting topic to close out the parts of this book that
deal with the history of the modern empire and to launch
ourselves into a plan for turning it all around. More than
anywhere else, Afrit .1 highlights the urgency. She is the dead
canary in the mine.
The mine is a deathtrap. We need to save ourselves and we
need to pave a way for our children to survive in a sustainable and
stable world. To do so, we must listen to Africa. It is imperative
that we open our ears to that voice screaming at us from across
the Atlanl u You live on a small planet, it says, in a tiny
community. To save your kids, you must also help me save mine;
they are one and the same; we are family.
266RESOLVED: TO TURN THINGS AROUND
Africa tells us that enriching Indiana farmers while
impoverishing those in Mali will no longer work. It may have
once—for those in Indiana. But not anymore. The same can be
said for so many things that seem to make our lives convenient.
The days of "national interest" are gone. The success of future
generations rests on "global interests"—for the entire human
community—in fact the community of all living things. We are
one people and we are one planet. There is no room in this family
for an Idi Amin, "the Butcher of Uganda," or for Savimbi of
Angola, Mobutu and Kabila of the Congo, Abacha and Obasanjo
of Nigeria, or Doe of Liberia, any more than there is for Hitler of
Germany. And there can be no tolerance for oil spills in Nigeria
any more than in California. Or slaves in Sudan any more than on
Virginia plantations. This message is slowly reaching across the
world. In New York, during the fall of 2006, this poster appeared
in the subway system throughout the city:
DARFUR
500 FAMILY MEMBERS KILLED TODAY AND EVERY DAY
■Mothors
■Brothers- -Nephews.
Wives -.Nieces-Uncles Aunts
Milton Glaser,
Darfur: What Happens in Darfur
Happens to Us, 2006.
WE ARE ALL AFRICAN TO HELP; THEIRC.ORG
267
Africa brings all the issues together. It is, in a way, the last
frontier of unabashed exploitation and it receives that dubious
honor because we have allowed ourselves to be drugged into a
stupor of self-deception. We succumb to television ads hawking
cheap diamonds and gold. We brag about declining prices for
laptops and cell phones. We waste gasoline and complain when
the prices rise. We sweep the faces of diamond and gold miners
and children poisoned by oil spills under the rug of materialistic
greed.
We forget that our own children will inherit that rug. They
will be called upon to replace it. They will have to clean up the
terrible messes we leave behind.
Africa cups her hands and shouts to us. It is indeed time to
change. Fortunately, we have all the tools we need to transform
this world we created. Together we can lift up that carpet, remove
the messes, and quite literally clean out the house we are about to
hand over to our children.
PART 5:
CHANGING THE
WORLD
53
Four Essential Questions
On October 17, 2006, my alarm clock woke me up very early
at my home in western Massachusetts. I had to catch a morning
flight to San Francisco where I was scheduled to speak at a fundraising event for Rainforest Action Network (RAN), a nonprofit
organization that has convinced some of the world's most
powerful corporations to change their policies toward cutting
trees. I rolled out of bed, stumbled down the stairs, and filled the
kettle with water for coffee. I glanced through the small window
above the sink at the sun as it rose over the distant mountains, the
dawning of a magnificent New England autumn day, one of the
most brilliant I had ever witnessed. I set the kettle on the stove
and, shaking off my drowsiness, ambled into the dining room and
peered through the larger window there across the rolling fields at
those vibrant mountains, the crimson sun, and the fiery foliage. A
movement on a frost-covered knoll caught my eye. A flock of
wild turkeys picked their way along the ridge. There must have
been a hundred of them. Their silhouettes jerked forward, slowly,
oddly, almost unnaturally, like cartoon parodies of prehistoric
birds.
I checked the clock on the bookcase and, aware that I had
dallied too long, headed for the shower. As I passed the radio I
flicked it on to the local NPR station. Adjusting the water
temperature, I t bought about the speech I would give at the RAN
event. I wanted to emphasize a point the organization's chairman,
Jim Gollin, often makes—that we must work with the
corporations, not against t hem, that the goal is not to end
capitalism but to hold it to a higher standard. Then suddenly the
words of the radio announcer caught my attention.
EMPIRE
"Within less than a hundred years," she said, "all the maple
trees— and the fall foliage—will be gone from Massachusetts.
According to a recent scientific study, global warming will make
our climate here similar to North Carolina's. So," she sighed,
"enjoy this year's display. We may not have many more like it."
I stood there for a moment staring through the bathroom
window. Outside, the old red maple next to the house bowed in
the wind, its branches scrapping against the wall. The familiar
sound now seemed foreboding, a death rattle. I felt absolutely
devastated.
Later that day, while flying across the country, I kept thinking
about the possibility that the New England fall would be relegated
to history. I realized that the demise of autumnal foliage was not a
"possibility"; it was a scientifically predictable occurrence. For
the first time I could truly empathize with Eskimos as they
silently watch the Arctic ice melting. And those Himalayan
nomads I had met in Tibet who bemoaned the retreat of their
glaciers. For years I had accepted the concept of global warming
intellectually. But the idea that fall foliage, something I had
grown up with, a symbol of my favorite time of year, was on the
extinction list hit me hard.
Then I had another thought: Scientifically predictable
occurrences do not need to happen. At least not the ones that are
caused by us humans. We can stop them. Something I had said
many times during my speeches came back to me: that to change
the world we need to change the corporatocracy; we must stop
allowing those few men to continue shaping our planet's destiny.
We must halt their attack on the ice caps, glaciers, autumn
spectacles—on our progeny.
Looking down through an airplane window at the United
States of America, a land that generations of my ancestors toiled
and fought for, I was struck by the fact that all the stories of
EHMs and jackals in Asia, Latin America, the Middle East, and
Africa are just that. Stories. They may evoke pride, anger, joy or
sadness, but in the end they are simply stories about our past.
Unless we choose to turn them into something more important.
Unless they become lessons that motivate us to take action.
272FOUR ESSENTIAL QUESTIONS
That day was pivotal for me. I had committed to writing a
book that would inspire people to change the world. This book. I
had completed drafts of all the sections except this final one, the
crucial part. Up until that moment, my efforts had been impeded
by doubt. I had a good idea of what I wanted to say, but not of the
manner for expressing it. How, I asked myself, do you convince
men and women who live comfortably to change a system that
provides their comforts—even when they know about EHMs and
jackals, when they understand that attached to their comforts are
terrible price tags? Where do you find words to empower them to
stand up to a force like the corporatocracy? How do you inspire
them to take actions that will bend the corporations to the will of
the people?
That day, as I flew from the East to the West Coast, reading
articles and manuscripts I had brought with me, I realized that
these are not new questions. Similar ones have been asked
throughout history by everyone who has stood against oppression
and for justice. Over the next few days, meeting with old friends
and making new ones among the people who support RAN and its
sister organizations, I came to understand that the key to
answering those questions can be provided by the answers to four
others.
The first question we must address deals with optimism, the
possibility of achieving our goal. Are we in a position where we
can actually hope to effect change? Assuming we become
convinced that there are reasons for optimism, we move to the
next question. Are we certain that we want change? The stories
about EHMs, jackals, and suffering around the globe strike raw
nerves, but now we demand absolute proof that our grievances
justify the efforts change will demand. Third: Is there a unifying
principle that will validate our efforts? We look to ascertain that
we are not merely seeking to impose our moral, religious, or
philosophical values on others but instead are intent on creating
something of true and lasting universal benefit. And finally: What
can we each do? You and I personally need to evaluate our talents
and passions. What are our individual options and desires? How
do they fit into the bigger picture?
273
In the following chapters, we will explore these questions in
depth. We will rely on real-world responses—both historic and
current—to answer them. We will talk with today's pioneers, men
and women who themselves have asked these same questions,
arrived at answers, and now are taking actions that will help each
of us make our own decisions. We will examine approaches that
have worked in the past and ones that are successful today. At
times like these, it is important to be philosophical and to
investigate the ethical implications of what we do; however, it is
essential that we also apply ourselves in down-to-earth ways, ones
that will result in concrete and lasting change.
54
Change Is Possible
We have to be convinced that change is possible in order to
make commitments to taking action and risks. Do we have
grounds for optimism?
I have mentioned the American Revolution a number of times
in these pages. It is not a casual comparison. There are many
parallels between the situation we find ourselves in today, living
under the misguided hand of the corporatocracy, and the
challenges faced by those early settlers. Just as then, now there is
a gathering storm of conviction toward changing the
corporatocracy. Yet the American Revolution could not happen
until the colonists persuaded themselves that victory was possible.
British subjects first saw that the Empire was vulnerable in
1755, during the French and Indian War, at the Battle of the
Monongahela ("Battle of the Wilderness"). George Washington,
serving under British General Edward Braddock, personally
witnessed one of the worst defeats in English history; its impact
on him was enormous. Braddock was killed, Washington emerged
a hero, and the colonies had a new respect for their homegrown
leaders, as well as a diminished regard for an army that until then
had been considered invincible. However, in addition to Tories
loyal to England, large numbers of Americans deferred from
making any decision.
Then, during the Revolution, at the Battle of Bunker Hill in
1775, American forces outfought the British in a ferocious
pitched battle. Although the Americans ran out of powder and the
British claimed victory, nearly half the English forces lay dead or
wounded. The colonists were elevated to new levels of
confidence. General Washington's crossing of the Delaware on
Christmas night, 1776, and
EMPIRE
his spectacular defeat of the feared Hessian mercenaries at
Trenton the following day convinced approximately eight
thousand new recruits to join the Continental Army. Less than a
year later, the colonial victory at Saratoga established American
superiority on a battlefield and persuaded the British that their
own self-interests might best be served by accepting change; it
was a decisive turning point that swayed the French into
becoming American allies.
My personal equivalent of Monongahela happened during the
last years of the nineties and the beginning ones of the new
millennium when I led a number of Dream Change trips deep into
the Amazon. Every time I flew across the jungle I witnessed more
devastation. I was constantly reminded by the Shuar that this was
a sign of failure, of a lack of long-term awareness, and an
indication that the corporatocracy was fallible—like the British
during the French and Indian War. I came to understand that a
change of course was not merely something to be desired; it is a
prerequisite for the survival of our species.
We learn from history that a collapsed empire leads to chaos,
wars, and a new empire. In the modern context, the chaos and
wars are likely to cause the annihilation of life as we know it. For
me, it took the South American jungles to bring this home. I came
away knowing that we simply have to find an alternative. But, I
asked myself, is it possible? I needed proof.
In addition to the Amazon trips, I was also teaching
workshops to help executives find creative approaches for solving
problems. My "students" represented a cross-section of the
world's most powerful companies—Exxon, General Motors, Ford,
Harley-Davidson, Shell Nike, Hewlett-Packard, even the World
Bank.
Several books and films popular at that time pointed out that
the corporation enjoys the same rights as a living person under the
Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution. This concept was
upheld in 1886 by the Supreme Court in Santa Clara County v.
Southern Pacific Railroad Company and has been a fact of law
ever since.47 I emphasized to those executives that the corporation
should also
276CHANGE IS POSSIBLE
be required to accept the same responsibilities as those
expected of a person; it too should be a good citizen, an
honorable, ethical member of the community. In the case of
international corporations, that community has to be defined as
the world.
In actual practice, corporations are the opposite of good
citizens. They bribe politicians to write laws that cheat society on
a mammoth scale, most significantly by allowing them to avoid
paying many of the very real costs incurred in conducting their
businesses. What economists refer to as "externalities" are left out
of pricing calculations. These include the social and
environmental costs of destruction of valuable resources,
pollution, the burdens on society of workers who become injured
or ill and receive little or no health care, the indirect funding
received when companies are permitted to market hazardous
products, dump wastes into oceans and rivers, pay employees less
than a living wage, provide substandard working conditions, and
extract natural resources from public lands at less-than-market
prices. Furthermore, most corporations are dependent on public
subsidies, exemptions, massive advertising and lobbying
campaigns, and complex transportation and communications systems that are underwritten by taxpayers; their executives receive
inflated salaries, perks, and "golden retirement parachutes," which
are written off as tax deductions.
Under proper accounting all these "externalities" would be
factored into the costs of products. Those goods and services that
are inherently "clean" would also be the cheapest. Consumers
would pay a premium for products that strain the environment and
society; the price would include funds for correcting the damage.
In a truly "free" market economy, these very real costs would be
"internalized"—included. But they are not. Why? Because
accounting firms are not obligated to enforce sound accounting
principles; they only need to adhere to those required by the
laws—which are written by politicians who are dependent on the
corporatocracy.
Modern corporations have all the rights of individuals but
none of the responsibilities. In fact, they are licensed to steal.
From an
277
economic standpoint, there is simply no other word for it.
They plunder the poor and future generations in order to further
enrich the wealthy.
As I conducted workshops and thought more on these matters,
I realized that it is one thing to understand that we must insist on
fundamental changes in our corporations and it is quite another
thing to convince people that we can make it happen. What are
the contemporary equivalents of Bunker Hill, Trenton, and
Saratoga? Where are the leverage points that give us hope?
I found the answer in a packet of magazine articles I took with
me to read on the flight to San Francisco that October day when I
learned that New England's fall foliage is threatened with extinction. It was a pivotal day for many reasons.
55
Modern Minutemen
"Environmental warriors."
"Minutemen at Concord Bridge."
"Green guerrillas."
These phrases referred to Rainforest Action Network, the nonprofit where I was about to speak. Although RAN is famous for
saving endangered forests, the articles I read on that flight
reminded me of something I had thought about a half decade
earlier and then pretty much forgot. They suggested that RAN can
serve as a model for something bigger. These articles, in
magazines ranging from the corporate bible, Fortune, to Tricycle:
The Buddhist Review, discussed in detail how volunteers practice
freedom of speech through civil disobedience, street theater, and
nonviolent protests. RAN's people march outside the headquarters
of corporations, wave placards, and even scale buildings to drape
them with banners that highlight the companies' most blatant
violations. They buy full-page newspaper ads and write letters to
editors. However, they are careful never to harm people or
property. And they offer to help executives fashion win-win
approaches that benefit all parties. Those successes illustrated that
"we the people" can motivate corporations to change. RAN
proves that we can bend the will of the mightiest of the mighty.
Change can serve corporate self-interests, as well as those of the
community at large.
Those articles jarred my recollections of RAN's campaign in
the mid-1990s to convince members of the Mitsubishi corporate
family, at the time considered the world's most destructive logger
of tropical forests, to change their policies. When Mitsubishi's
managers
EMPIRE
rejected RAN's initial overtures and instead refused to
negotiate, the endeavor took on a personal element. Mitsubishi
officials faced off against RAN's founder and executive director.
The exchanges were heated and sometimes personal.
In the end, RAN emerged victorious. On November 12, 1997,
Mitsubishi Motor Sales of America and Mitsubishi Electric
America signed a historic agreement with RAN that committed
the companies to "ecological sustainability and social
responsibility"; in addition, they pledged to implement fourteen
specific steps aimed at fulfilling this commitment.
Several months after this agreement was reached, I attended a
conference on the California coast. I had heard that RAN's
founder and executive director, Randy Hayes, would be among
the conference's three dozen or so participants. I looked forward
to meeting this man who had taken on a monumental challenge
and was winning. In my opinion, he was a modern hero whose
feet filled tracks put down by Tom Paine, Harriet Tubman, Martin
Luther King Jr., Cesar Chavez, Rachel Carson, and others who
aroused us to change the way we view ourselves and behave
toward the world.
The conference center was located high in the hills above the
Pacific. I had decided to make a tent my home for the extended
weekend, rather than accepting one of the rooms reserved for
participants. I pitched my tent in a small field on a steep slope just
above a clump of fir trees that hugged the top of the cliff overlook
ing the ocean. Although I would have to sleep on an incline, I
could open the flap and look down on spectacular views of the
rugged coast. Since the day was clear and mild, I did not worry
too much about fine-tuning. The tent went up quickly and I lay
back to watch the sun creep toward the horizon. The scent of fir
mingling with that of the ocean was intoxicating ...
Suddenly I sat up and looked at my watch. I had dozed off for
nearly half an hour. I roused myself and headed down to the
reception cocktail party, my reluctance to leave this idyllic setting
offset by an eagerness to meet RAN's executive director.
280MODERN MINUTEMEN
I had no idea that Randy's archrival, an executive from
Mitsubishi, was at that very moment on his way to the same
cocktail party.
******************
I recognized Randy immediately from the press photos. I
introduced myself, expressed my appreciation for his work, and
congratulated him on his recent victory. We chatted about my
experiences in the Amazon. Then he glanced at the door; a look of
surprise crossed his face; he excused himself and strolled over to
the man who had just entered. They shook hands, exchanged a
few words, and then we all were asked to be seated so the
conference could officially begin. The woman sitting at my side
whispered that the newcomer was a Mitsubishi executive. After
that first greeting, he and Randy seemed to avoid each other.
The next day was intense with group meetings. During dinner
I invited Randy to join me for a beer at the hot tub where we
could continue the discussion begun the day before. We arrived at
the top of the cliff above the Pacific Ocean and headed along a
narrow trail. As we approached the tub, we noticed that someone
was already in it. The Mitsubishi executive seemed equally
shocked to see us. But he recovered quickly, smiled up from the
bubbles, and raised his own beer can. "Beautiful sunset," he
observed. "Please join me."
I felt rather anxious as we stripped down and stepped into the
hot water. Here I was, alone on this mountain, the only person
between these two men who until recently had been archrivals.
We talked about the events of the afternoon, reviewed conference
matters, and discussed other participants who were mutual
friends. We studiously shunned any reference to the recent
conflict.
The sun dropped into the ocean. The sky went from pink to
magenta to purple. We opened another round of beers and clicked
our cans together. Randy and I sipped from ours, but our
companion continued to hold his high. "I have something
important to say to you, Randy."
Randy looked directly at him. I sensed that he, like me, had no
idea of what to expect.
EMPIRE
"I need to thank you," the other continued. "I and a number of
Mitsubishi managers wanted to change our policies long before
RAN came calling. But we didn't dare confront our board. We
were afraid we'd get fired. Your protesters and ads forced the
issue. It was tough. You made us all pretty uncomfortable. But,
ultimately, you brought us together. Someone pointed out that our
responsibilities shouldn't stop with today's stockholders; they
should include the stockholders' kids, our kids. RAN gave us an
opportunity. We convinced ourselves, our company, to do the
right thing." He leaned toward Randy; their cans clicked again;
mine joined theirs. "Thank you," he said.
Later that night, a storm moved in off the Pacific. I woke up,
listening to the rain hammer my tent and thinking about the
evening. The Mitsubishi man's words offered hope. Like me
during my days as an EHM, he and his fellow executives had
understood what needed to be done to make the world better but
they felt trapped in a system that demanded they not listen to their
conscience.
I recalled how in my heart I had known that many of my
actions were wrong, but things conspired to convince me
otherwise. Business schools, international organizations, and
revered economists taught that building huge infrastructure
projects was essential to development, the solution to poverty. I
was praised for following the formula; I was promoted, given
raises, larger staffs, power, sex, corporate stock, a partnership,
insurance ... all the things that define success in our society. I was
invited to lecture at the world's most prestigious colleges and
wined and dined by heads of state.
The Mitsubishi executive had experienced something
similar— he and all those other men and women who surrounded
him. Their careers were devoted to the bottom line: short-term
dollar profits. Promotions, benefits, their children's health care
depended on the quarterly income statement. They had been
trained to see the world through wine-colored boardroom glasses.
Then RAN entered the picture .. .
The wind picked up. Howling at my tent, it seemed to
proclaim
282
nature's determination to set things right. The words of an
Andean shaman returned to me. "The world doesn't need to be
saved," she said. "The world is not in danger. We are. We
humans. If we don't change our ways, Mother Earth will shake us
off like so many fleas." Now the shaking had begun. This night
seemed symbolic of the larger shaking expressed through floods,
droughts, rampant epidemics, and melting glaciers.
Suddenly, there was a wrenching sound. Water cascaded
through the top of my tent. The rainfly flap had torn loose! I
cursed myself for not paying more attention to details when I set
it up, then quickly gathered my belongings, flicked on my
flashlight, and made a mad dash through the torrential rain into
the house where our meetings were conducted.
To my relief I found a couch with a blanket and cushion, as
though someone had left it there for me. I removed my sopping
clothes, settled in, and fell asleep to the sound of the storm
battering against the cliffs below.
56
Changing the Myth
I woke up early and peered through the window. The sun was
just rising. Not a cloud visible anywhere. Despite the glorious
weather, I had a nagging feeling, embarrassed at the thought that
the Amazon adventurer had done such a sloppy job of securing
his tent. I slipped into my soggy clothes and crept out the door.
A breeze cooled the air, the sole remnant of the night's storm,
as I picked my way back to the small field. When I got there, I
froze. The tent had disappeared.
I stood gawking, wondering if somehow I had taken a wrong
turn. The circle of yellow grass in a storm-flattened sea of green
told me otherwise. Perhaps someone had already been there and
dismantled it. But who? Why? My eyes were drawn to the
shoreline far below. The storm had kicked up giant waves. A
couple of ambitious surfers bobbed in the breakers. Then I spotted
something in the fir trees near the edge of the cliff. A globe of
nylon the color of my tent.
I hurried to it. Amazingly it was intact, on its side but still
fastened to its frame. Cautiously I hauled it out and up the slope.
Other than a slightly bent aluminum rod and a lot of mud, the tent
seemed none the worse for its wanderings. I went about resetting
it. This time much more carefully, giving extra attention to the
rainfly flap. I returned to the house and found a bucket. Grateful
not to encounter other participants, I filled it with water, lugged it
to my tent, and scrubbed away the mud.
After finishing, I took a stroll along the clifftop path. The rain
had brought out the scent of fir trees. I came to a wooden bench.
The sun at my back, I sat down, faced the ocean, and thought
about
284CHANGING THE MYTH
frailty. First, my own. I had ignored a key tenet of camping:
Always anticipate the worst, expect a storm. As an EHM I had
found it equally as easy to ignore the facts behind the myth of my
job. I was creating an empire rather than making the world a
saner, safer, more compassionate place, serving the
corporatocracy instead of solving the problems of poverty.
Then I thought about the frailty of the Mitsubishi executive.
Like so many others, he had refused to expect a storm, to
anticipate that raping rainforests would ultimately destroy his
children's futures. I guessed that he had convinced himself that
some inventive mind would discover a way to postpone the longterm suffering—solar and wind power, hybrid autos, hydroponics
farming. He, like most of us, could find excuses.
Watching the waves crash against the beach in the distance
below, I thought about how most of the people who attend Dream
Change workshops or join our trips to the Amazon seem to take
for granted that corporate executives are amoral at best, and evil
at worst, and that the corporations are so powerful that no one can
possibly turn them around. This too was a distortion, a type of
denial that shifted responsibility away from us, the people; if
corporations are omnipotent and their leaders evil, then there is
nothing the rest of us can do other than accept their advertising
and convince ourselves that we need more of their products.
RAN and its volunteers were changing the myth. They were
telling corporate executives to use their inventive minds wisely
and at the same time demonstrating to the rest of us that those
executives are neither amoral nor evil, that corporations are not
omnipotent, and that we are not impotent. They were telling us—
executives and everyone else—that we must accept responsibility
for our lives and the world we will pass on to our progeny.
When I rose from that bench, I felt inspired. The hot-tub
meeting had opened my eyes to new possibilities. That day and
the next I concentrated on talking with the attendees who worked
for big corporations. As an EHM I had known such people—I had
been
EMPIRE
one of them—and had taught workshops for them and had
mixed with them at seminars and cocktail parties. The fact that
they were at this conference indicated that they were open to
alternative ways of doing business, but I had an even more
specific set of questions in mind. I wanted to study them in a new
way, to test a hypothesis. If the hypothesis was true, that most are
decent people who desire to pass a better world on to their
offspring and who welcome "interference" from organizations
like RAN, then the implications were staggering.
I continued to test my hypothesis. In addition to talking with
corporate managers, I also read studies conducted by others. I
concluded that although among executives there are pathological
personalities—people who have no regard for the life and wellbeing of anyone other than themselves—their numbers are small,
probably reflecting those in society at large. Most executives care
passionately about the consequences of their actions and about the
world they will leave to their children and grandchildren. While it
may be part of their corporate culture to fear the Randy Hayeses
of the world, deep in their hearts, they welcome them. When an
organization like RAN hangs banners on their headquarters, those
executives give a very quiet sigh of relief.
Shortly after reaching these conclusions, I was hit with a
number of personal crises: family illnesses and my father's death.
I reduced my activities to the essentials—trips to the Amazon and
workshops that had been scheduled far in advance—and set all
other projects aside. Then 9/11 struck. After my visit to Ground
Zero, I focused on writing Confessions and, following its success,
on speaking tours. It was not until I took that 2006 flight to RAN's
fund-raiser that I once again pondered the deeper implications of
its campaigns against Mitsubishi and so many other bastions of
the corporatocracy.
I realized during that flight that if we are to change a world
ruled by the corporatocracy, we must change the corporations.
The more
286
I thought about this, the more convinced I became that Randy
and his staff and their volunteers had hit on something huge.
Those picket lines and banners were the contemporary equivalent
of the crates of tea tossed into Boston Harbor. And you had to
throw the tea before you could win at Saratoga.
57
The New Capitalism
RAN does not fit the profile of the type of organization that
intimidates the world's most powerful corporations. In 2006 its
staff and budget were less than forty people and $4 million,
amazingly small considering the job they do. I traveled several
times to San Francisco and met with many of those people after
that initial speaking engagement.
"Susceptible to pressure," RAN's chairman of the board, Jim
Gollin, responded when I asked him about the weak spot of the
corporatocracy. "We see time and again that they can be
persuaded to make major policy changes." Fluent in Japanese, Jim
had been one of the first Westerners to work in the Tokyo
headquarters of what was at the time the largest securities firm in
the world, Nomura, then traveled around the globe for Morgan
Stanley, and started his own investment company. He understands
the corporate world.
"To persuade them to change, you have to be flexible, adjust
to the situation." Jim described Home Depot as an example.
"They were the world's largest retailer of lumber and not
interested in dealing with us. So, we gradually turned up the heat
with demonstrations at stores and shareholders' meetings. A
friend on the inside leaked us the security code for the intercom
system in his store and it turned out that every store had the same
code. One day, our volunteers punched in the code and
announced: Attention, Home Depot shoppers! A sale on wood in
Aisle 10. This wood was ripped from the Amazon. There may be
blood spilled on the floor; please be careful. Cutting this wood is
leading to the dislocation of indigenous communities, soil
degradation, and the destruction of the Earth.' Once we got our
student allies organized, we could hit up to
288THE NEW CAPITALISM
162 stores in a single day. As you can imagine, the phones
rang off the hook at the Home Depot headquarters in Atlanta.
Then they wanted to talk. When they agreed to stop selling oldgrowth timber and wood from endangered forests, the other major
lumber retailers, such as Lowe's, decided to join them.
"I'm a capitalist," Jim admitted. "Corporations are the most
dynamic forces in the world today. They've got the power, the
energy to create change. It's up to us to make it happen. I believe
in activism."
Fortune magazine referred to RAN as "a mosquito in the tent"
because the organization has never allowed itself to be intimidated by the size of its targets. Among other corporations that
have capitulated to RAN's demands are Kinko's, Staples, Boise
Cascade, Citigroup, Bank of America, fP Morgan Chase,
McDonald's, and Goldman Sachs.
Randy Hayes turned the day-to-day management of RAN over
to Mike Brune in 2003, although the founder himself continued to
serve as a very active board president. The new executive director
had previously been campaign director and had demonstrated his
prowess at shaping strategy. He explained to me that people
cannot understand how a $4 million organization is able to
convince $100 billion corporations to change their policies.
"We're part of a larger global justice movement," Mike said, "the
nonviolent shock troops for a loosely organized network of
environmental organizations, socially responsible investors,
enlightened philanthropists, and sympathetic insiders.
Organizations we 'partner' with include Forest Ethics, BankTrack,
World Wildlife Fund, Friends of the Earth, Amazon Watch, The
Pachamama Alliance, the Ruckus Society, Greenpeace, Global
Exchange, the Sierra Student Coalition, the Student
Environmental Action Coalition, Rainforest Action Group, and
others. We have great hope that we actually can change corporate
America." He smiled.
I asked him why he was so confident.
"Four reasons. The first is that we have the truth on our side.
Our global economy and indeed the quality of all life, depends on
a
EMPIRE
stable climate, flourishing biodiversity, clean air and water.
These are all basic human rights, really. As the bumper sticker
says: THERE ARE NO JOBS ON A DEAD PLANET. Second, corporate
executives and CEOs accept this as true. Many of them are
beginning to realize— slowly—that they can be part of the
solution, not part of the problem. Third, we see these corporations
as potential allies; we work with them, identifying win-wins; we
advise them on policy solutions and celebrate responsible
leadership. Finally, we won't give up. The vast majority of the
public supports environmental protection, and groups like RAN
will hold these companies accountable.
A key is understanding the mind-sets of executives. Ilyse
Hogue, director of RAN's Global Finance Campaign, was raised
by a stockbroker father. "People forget," she told me, "that
corporations consist of human beings, many with children.
They're very concerned about the future."
RAN's approach took on new significance with a 2006
program called Jumpstart Ford; its goal is to change a corporation
that is not generally associated with forest destruction. As
campaign director Jennifer Krill points out, "Cars use oil. A lot of
oil comes from rainforests. Besides, oil is the single biggest
contributor to climate change, which impacts forests and all of
us." This campaign sends a signal that RAN's goal is broader than
its name suggests.
Krill has no doubts about the outcome of Project Jumpstart
Ford. Every RAN campaign has produced tangible results. "The
question is not whether we will succeed," she says. "The question
is will we do it in time."
Not if the corporatocracy gets its way. The House Ways and
Means Committee subpoenaed RAN to hand over information on
every protest it has conducted since 1993. In a move that typifies
the cozy relationship between big business and the U.S. Congress,
the investigation aims at revoking RAN's tax-exempt status.
According to Mike Brune, his organization is complying fully; on
May 31, 2005, it handed over hundreds of documents and video
footage. "It's costing us time and money," Mike confirmed,
shaking his
290
head sadly. "We're determined to protect our donors from a
possible witch hunt; so we removed every name and face from the
material we gave them. What a job. But we want to demonstrate
that we believe in the system and we also don't intend to be
bullied."
I asked him how he felt about the Ways and Means
Committee's action.
He paused. "How do I feel? On the one hand, it pisses me
off— they should be going after the companies that abuse their
power, not groups like ours who are trying to protect our kids'
heritage. On the other hand, I hope it will alert the American
public to the power we all have, especially when we come
together and organize ourselves. Congress doesn't go after a small
nonprofit unless very important people feel terribly threatened."
In the days and weeks following those meetings in San
Francisco, I became aware that a lot of very important people are
feeling threatened by many NGOs. The corporatocracy is still
officially in control, but they are beginning to realize that their
days are numbered.
58
A List of Grievances
RAN is just one of many organizations demonstrating that
corporations are vulnerable, that they can and will change.
Subsequent chapters will describe the successful methods of a
number of these NGOs. They have forced the giants of industry to
clean up polluted rivers, outlaw ozone-layer-destroying aerosol
sprays, protect endangered species, open their doors to minorities,
ban gender discrimination, and implement a wide range of other
policies that address social, environmental, civil rights, and
humanitarian issues. Similar approaches can be applied to
changing the fundamental goals of corporations, to transforming
them into good planetary citizens who serve the interests of
societies and environments rather than those of a tiny global
aristocracy.
Following extensive discussions and research, I concluded that
change is possible; it is happening in very significant ways.
Corporations are bending to our will. We have the power to
achieve monumental changes in the way our society is structured.
Now the second question: Are we certain that we want
change? In Asia, Latin America, the Middle East, and Africa, we
have seen the terrible consequences of the EHMs, jackals, and the
"final solution" of the military, even as the colonists witnessed the
inequities and suffering caused by British policies. We ask
ourselves whether these are enough to motivate us to take the
necessary actions.
Prior to the Revolution, journalists like Benjamin Franklin,
orators like Patrick Henry, and pamphleteers like Tom Paine
understood the importance of succinctly defining the injustices
perpetrated by the Crown. There was simply no substitute for the
presentation of ironclad reasons, data, and statistics. Their
arguments resulted in a
292A LIST OF GRIEVANCES
long list of grievances against the British monarchy that
ultimately was summarized in the Declaration of Independence. It
served as a motivator—as well as rationale—for taking action.
Today we have an even longer list of grievances against the
corporatocracy. It is presented to us regularly by the press (often
inadvertently), over the Internet, and in films and books. A
summary of salient points:
Because of corporatocray policies and actions . ..
• More than half the world's population survives on less than
$2 a day—about the same real income as they had thirty years
ago.
• More than two billion people lack access to basic amenities,
including electricity, clean water, sanitation, land titles, phones,
police, and fire protection.
• There is a 55-60 percent failure rate for all World Banksponsored projects (according to a study by the Joint Economic
Committee of U.S. Congress).
• The cost of servicing Third World debt is greater than all
Third World spending on health or education and nearly two
times the amount those countries receive each year in foreign aid.
Despite current lip service to forgiving it, Third World debt grows
every year, currently approaching $3 trillion. The record is not
encouraging. During the 1996 round of "debt forgiveness," the G7
countries, IMF, and World Bank announced a cancellation of up
to 80 percent in HIPC (Heavily Indebted Poor Countries) debt,
but between 1996 and 1999 the overall amount of debt-servicing
payments from HIPC actually increased by 25 percent, from
$88.6 trillion to $114.4 trillion.
• A trade surplus of $1 billion for developing countries in the
1970s turned into an $11 billion deficit at the beginning of the
new millennium and continues to grow.
• Ownership of Third World wealth is more concentrated than
it was before the 1970s era of massive infrastructure development
and the 1990s privatization wave. In many countries, the top 1
percent of households now accounts for more than 90 percent of
all private wealth.
EMPIRE
• Transnational corporations have taken control over much of
the production and commerce in developing countries. For
example 40 percent of the world's coffee is traded by just four
companies while thirty supermarket chains account for almost
one-third of worldwide grocery sales. A handful of oil and other
resource-extractive companies control not only the markets but
also the governments of countries that possess the resources.
• Corporate greed was highlighted when ExxonMobil
announced another record-breaking profit, $10.4 billion, in the
second quarter of 2006—the second biggest profit ever reported
by a U.S. company, surpassed only by Exxon's $10.7 billion in
the fourth quarter of 2005; both were years when rising oil prices
caused intense suffering among the world's poor. Oil companies
are highly subsidized through tax breaks, trade agreements, and
international environmental and labor laws that favor them.
• The overall share of federal taxes paid by U.S. corporations
is now less than 10 percent, down from 21 percent in 2001, and
more than 50 percent during World War II. One-third of
America's largest and most profitable corporations paid zero taxes
in at least one of the first three years in the new millennium. In
2002 U.S. corporations booked $149 billion in tax-haven
countries such as Ireland, Bermuda, Luxembourg, and Singapore.
• Of the one hundred largest economies in the world, fifty-one
are corporations. Of these, forty-seven are U.S.-based.
• At least thirty-four thousand children under five years old
die every day from hunger or preventable diseases.
• The United States and many of the countries Washington
touts as democracies exhibit the following undemocratic
characteristics: the media is manipulated by huge corporations
and the government; politicians are beholden to wealthy
campaign contributors; and policies made "behind closed doors"
ensure that voters are not informed about key issues.
• When the international treaty to ban land mines was passed
by the U.N. in 1997 by a vote of 142-0, the United States
abstained;
294A LIST OF GRIEVANCES
the United States refused to ratify the 1989 Convention on the
Rights of the Child, the International Biological Weapons
Convention, the Kyoto Protocol, and an International Criminal
Court.
• Global military spending reached a new record high of $1.1
trillion in 2006, with the United States accounting for nearly half
of that (averaging $1,600 for every U.S. man, woman, and child).
• The United States was ranked #53 on the World Press
Freedom list in 2006 (compared to #17 in 2002) and has been
severely criticized by Reporters Without Borders and other NGOs
for jailing and intimidating journalists.
• The U.S. national debt (amount of money owed by the U.S.
federal government to creditors who hold U.S. debt instruments),
the largest in the world, reached $8.5 trillion in August 2006 or
$28,500 for every U.S. citizen; it was increasing by $1.7 billion a
day. A large percentage of this debt is held by the central banks of
Japan and China and by members of the EU, rendering us
extremely vulnerable to them.
• U.S. external debt (total public and private debt owed to
nonresidents repayable in foreign currency, goods, or services) is
also the largest in the world, estimated at $9 trillion in 2005. (It is
noteworthy that Washington uses the National and External Debts
of other countries as weapons, forcing their governments to
comply with corporatocracy demands or face bankruptcy,
economic sanctions, and severe IMF-imposed "conditionalities";
yet the United States is the largest debtor nation in the world.)
This partial list leaves no doubt that we must use the tools at
our disposal to effect change. These grievances serve as our
motivator— as well as our rationale—for altering the abominable
reality of the world the corporatocracy has created. At the heart of
every one of the inequities are corporations. By changing them we
will change the world.
We must insist that corporations become democratic and
transparent. No longer will we accept imperialistic capitalism,
where a
EMPIRE
very few rich men make all the decisions and most of the
money and do so largely in secret. We will demand that they
abide by those principles we hold to be self-evident, as stated in
our most sacred documents, principles of justice, equality,
compassion, and governance with an eye toward providing peace
and stability for future generations. We will recognize that we live
in a tiny global community and that corporations must set new
goals that reflect this reality. Rather than accumulating wealth for
the few, they must take care of their employees, even after
retirement; serve their customers; look after those who supply the
resources they use—who mine, plant, pick, weave, smelt, process,
fashion, shape, and assemble— and they must protect the
communities and environments where all these people live.
This process also requires that we honor the nurturing aspects
of ourselves, those associated with the feminine, and reject the
idea that this is a "man's world" where might is right. Riane
Eisler, author of the national best seller The Chalice and the
Blade, joined a number of researchers in analyzing measures that
compared the status of women with those relating to the quality of
life. Relying on statistics gathered by eighty-nine nations, their
study concluded that the status of women is a better predictor of
the general quality of life than is Gross Domestic Product.
In her new book The Real Wealth of Nations, Dr. Eisler
reports: "in societies where women have higher status and are
almost half the government, such as the Nordic nations, more
fiscal priority is given to caring policies such as universal health
care, high quality child care, parenting education, and generous
paid parental leave. . . . When the status and power of women is
higher, so also is a nation's general quality of life, and when it's
lower, so is the quality of life for all."48 We must understand that
our very survival depends upon our ability to be compassionate.
We must nurture. We must embrace and love.
Our tiny planet is, like the Titanic, sinking rapidly. Unlike the
Titanic, it does not have too few lifeboats; it has no lifeboats. Our
296
most powerful institutions, our corporations, need to operate
the pumps. They ran the boat into the iceberg; now they have to
bail it out and set a new course.
And we the people must do the right thing, the rational and
pragmatic thing. We must make ourselves heard. We must
demand that the corporations become democratic and transparent.
Before addressing the issues dealing with unifying principles
and what we each can do, the actions we can take individually and
communally, it is important to address an obstacle that halts many
of us from ever asking those questions. I came face-to-face with
this obstacle while attending a conference on an island in the
Atlantic. I discovered just how effective the corporatocracy has
been in silencing its opposition, at striking fear into some of the
very organizations that are in the best positions to change it.
59
Facing Our Fears
During that period in 2006 when I was exploring the impacts
of NGOs on corporations, I joined a group of twenty-three men
and women on the island of Martha's Vineyard for several days of
meetings. The discussions were echoes, I believe, of debates that
raged in the colonies during the years leading up to the
Revolution. Many colonists were terrified of the British; along
with the "loyalists" or "Tories" they opposed taking action. "The
British empire is just too big, too powerful," they warned. "We'll
lose and be persecuted for defying it." The setting for those 2006
meetings, off the coast of Massachusetts, was auspicious, a sort of
microcosm for today's larger world.
The Vineyard was once home to a large whaling fleet and
became the eighteenth century's equivalent to the current Middle
East and Amazon—a primary source of oil for American
industries and homes. Like deserts and rainforests today, whale
populations back then were devastated. The discovery of
petroleum in nearby Pennsylvania offered a cheaper alternative
and led to the collapse of the whale oil industry. In more recent
years, this island gained a reputt tion as a playground for the
famous: the Kennedy and Clinton families, actors, writers, and
musicians. It served as location filming for the movie Jaws. By
the time I arrived in 2006, it also reflected the ecological
imbalance so common in our world. Overpopulated by deer, it
became overrun by the dreaded Lyme disease-carrying deer ticks.
I was told that many residents had contracted the illneff As a
result, we were warned not to stroll through the lush grass lands
or enchanted forests. "Best to view them from the safety of an airconditioned car."
298FACING OUR FEARS
Most of the twenty-three conferees represented nonprofits that
received donations from our host, a wealthy philanthropist. They
were dedicated to protecting the environment, endangered
species, human rights, and issues around gender and health.
On a number of occasions I appealed to the participants to devote some of their efforts to bringing corporations around, using
RAN as an example. I was shocked at the responses.
"Executives can't be trusted."
"We stay away from the corporate world. Too corrupting."
"Too powerful. We'll lose and be punished."
"Extremely dangerous. Better not to take the risk."
"Look," I said. "Every one of you is involved in important
work. But, in a way, you're applying Band-Aids. We're
hemorrhaging badly, so we need Band-Aids, but unless we start
curing the disease, the underlying cause, all the Band-Aids in the
world won't save us. You're right to protect yourselves against
corruption by corporations, but for heaven's sake, deal with them,
map out a strategy."
Mona Cadena, deputy director, western region, for Amnesty
International, spoke up. "We at Amnesty agree. With over 1.8
million members in about 150 countries, we know the power of
corporations. In fact, we buy stock in some of the worst
offenders—enough so we can attend meetings and file
shareholder resolutions requiring the companies to adopt human
rights policies in every country where they work."
Mona's willingness to speak out gave me heart.
Later, as we sat at a window overlooking a huge brackish lake
separated from the Atlantic Ocean by a tiny sandbar, Mona talked
about Tony Cruz. Amnesty's Corporate Action Network
coordinator in California, he had engaged Google cofounders
Sergey Brin and Larry Page and Yahoo! CEO Terry Semel and
founder Jerry Yang in face-to-face exchanges at stockholder
meetings, insisting that those companies stop aiding repression of
free speech in China. In addition, more than forty thousand
activists participated in online actions targeting the companies.
"We haven't yet got either of them to
EMPIRE
take proactive stances," Mona sighed, "but we did rate an
article in Business Week and air time on some ABC stations. We
know it's worth the effort. Pressure brings results."
"RAN's done a great job," Mila Rosenthal, director of the
Business and Human Rights program at Amnesty, told me over
the phone when I contacted her several days later. "Their work is
very challenging. They have to force management to accept
specific restrictions on logging. You might think that our
approach, using shareholder resolutions, would be easier and that
companies would see that commitments to respect human rights
will benefit everyone. But still, we get a lot of resistance.
ExxonMobil is a case in point. . ."
The oil giant, the largest energy company on the planet, has
accumulated a record of human rights abuses in many countries.
Amnesty zeroed in on Cameroon, Chad, Nigeria, and Indonesia.
"We saw how adamantly ExxonMobil resisted efforts to get them
to clean up their act," Mila continued. "We had our members
deluge their CEO with postcards; we organized vigils, teach-ins,
and protests. On Valentine's Day, we sent cards asking them to
'have a heart for human rights.' We formed coalitions with other
like-minded shareholders."
Together with the AFL-CIO, the Teachers' Retirement System
of New York City, Boston Common Asset Management, Allied
Industrial, Chemical and Energy Workers International Union
(PACE), the Interfaith Center on Corporate Responsibility, and
Walden Asset Management, they called on ExxonMobil "to adopt
and implement a company-wide workplace human rights policy
based on the 1998 International Labor Organization's Declaration
of Fundamental Principles of Rights at Work (ILO Declaration)
and prepare a report available to shareholders concerning
implementation of this policy." After filing this resolution, the
coalition met with corporate officials. ExxonMobil agreed to
include a statement supporting the ILO Declaration in its
Corporate Citizenship Report. At the 2004 annual shareholders
meeting Chip Pitts, then chair of the board of
300
Amnesty International, warned that coalition members would
hold the company responsible for its promises.49
"We didn't get everything we wanted," Mila admitted to me.
"But we've made a good start. Our organizations learned a great
deal. We will change these guys—one company at a time."
The meeting on Martha's Vineyard at first frustrated me
because so many there had succumbed to corporate intimidation.
Yet I also developed a greater appreciation for Amnesty and the
other organizations that, like those Americans at Bunker Hill, are
facing their fears. By standing up to the corporations, they inspire
all of us. I knew that hearing Mona speak out must have
convinced one or two of the Tories to take heart.
6o
Changing Wall Street Through Financial
Leverage
The MoveOn family of organizations brings real Americans
back into the political process. With over 3.3 million members
across America—from carpenters to stay-at-home moms to
business leaders—we work together to realize the progressive
vision of our country's founders. MoveOn is a service—a way
for busy but concerned citizens to find their political voice in a
system dominated by big money and big media.50
—From the MoveOn Web site
Launching a campaign in response to "the ridiculous waste of
our nation's focus" over Clinton's impeachment in September
1998, MoveOn founders Joan Blades and Wes Boyd organized an
online petition to "Censure President Clinton and move on to
pressing issues . .." Hundreds of thousands signed the petition in
the first few days. Ever since, MoveOn has used the Internet as a
free speech forum. Among its campaigns, MoveOn is fighting to:
• End genocide in Darfur, Sudan.
• Pass laws requiring a paper record at voting machines.
• Institute public financing of political campaigns and end
candidates' reliance on corporate donors.
• Ban torture in U.S.-controlled facilities.
• Make solar roofs part of Public Utilities Commission's
policies.
• Increase public awareness about the dangers of U.S. threats
to use the "nuclear option."
• Protect Social Security.
302CHANGING WALL STREET THROUGH
FINANCIAL LEVERAGE
• Prohibit further concentration of the media among a few
corporations.
"People aren't apathetic—they just understand that alone it's
hard to make much impact," MoveOn Executive Director Eli
Pariser told me. "That's why MoveOn's about making folks heard
in Washington. Together we can even the playing field against the
oil and pharmaceutical companies and their allies in
Washington—setting policy that serves everyone, not a few
corporate bottom lines."
RAN, Amnesty, and MoveOn generate change through
protests, rallies, street theater, banner hangings, newspaper ads,
postcards to CEOs, shareholder resolutions, speeches, letters to
editors, call-in campaigns to political representatives, massive
Internet petitions, and other methods for drawing attention to their
causes and for letting the corporatocracy know when its actions
are unacceptable. In many respects, they owe their successes to
the leadership of the African-American community.
More than any other single group, African Americans have led
the nonviolent charge. This campaign started long before the Civil
War and continued in modern times through the Southern
Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), the National
Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP),
and many other civil rights movements. The story of slavery in
the United States and the struggle to end it and gain equal rights
and treatment for the de-scendents of those slaves is vast,
haunting, discoura000000000gthing, and inspirational all at once.
While most of us know about the way this movement pioneered
"civil disobedience," not so many are familiar with its leadership
in employing Wall Street as a tool for transforming the
corporatocracy. African Americans take credit not only for the
example they set in using protests and rallies, but also for their
role in recognizing the power of financial leverage. They plotted a
course that has been followed by other NGOs.
In 1996 charges surfaced that Texaco employees were making
EMPIRE
racist comments. The Rev. Jesse Jackson announced an
immediate boycott of Texaco. He called his friend New York
State Comptroller H. Carl McCall and asked him to join the
picket lines. McCall responded: "Jesse, when you own a million
shares you don't have to picket." Because McCall controlled New
York's investments, he realized that he was positioned to apply
pressure. He fired off a letter to Texaco Chairman Peter Bijur
stating his concerns about the company's policies toward minority
employees. In the end, Texaco paid a $176 million out-of-court
settlement and committed to generous raises to hundreds of
African-American employees.
The success of that campaign convinced Jackson to found the
Wall Street Project, a financial vehicle for using stock ownership
in creative, activist ways and also for raising consciousness
among African-American stockholders. Employing these
strategies, Jackson and his associates have convinced Coca-Cola,
7-Eleven, Shoney's, Coors, and other corporate giants to change
their policies.
"When you go into a meeting as a shareholder, you now have
the right to the floor," Jackson explained.". . . We have gone from
sharecroppers to shareholders."51
This philosophy has been adopted by other investors. Groups
of socially responsible stockholders often pressure pension and
mutual funds to take strong stances against corporations that have
refused to adopt pro-environment or pro-human rights policies.
As I traveled around the United States I frequently encountered
resistance on the part of university students to various
corporations; on many campuses they were especially incensed
about allegations that Coca-Cola mistreats employees in other
countries, including accusations that it hired jackals to intimidate
and kill union organizers in Colombia. In July 2006, the $8 billion
TIAA-CREF Social Choice Account ejected Coca-Cola Company
from its fund. Herbert Allison, CEO of TIAA-CREF, a company
that provides retirement plans in the academic, medical, and
cultural fields, made the announcement at the annual meeting of
CREF, the College Retirement Equities
304
Fund. This amounted to a divestment of 1.2 million shares of
Coca-Cola. TIAA-CREF's reasons for this move centered on
Coca-Cola's shortcomings in protecting worker rights at overseas
bottling plants, marketing of soda products to children, and
environmental issues around water usage.52
A very different approach that also involves financial leverage
has been pioneered by a nonprofit organization that works with
tribes deep in the Amazon.
61
Buying Off Third-world Debt
The Pachamama Alliance (TPA) was formed as a result of a
1994 expedition I led to the Amazon. On the last day of that trip,
participants donated $118,000 to help Amazonian tribes defend
their lands against oil companies. Bill Twist, the husband of
Lynne Twist, the nonprofit fund-raiser who had accompanied me
to Guatemala, volunteered to manage that campaign and became a
very active chairman of the board. By 2006, Pachamama was
raising around $1.5 million a year. It purchased two-way radios
and an airplane so indigenous communities could overcome
obstacles that had hampered them from communicating and
meeting with one another. It hired lawyers to conduct legal
proceedings against oil companies encroaching on indigenous
lands. It taught workshops and produced films to empower people
in the United States to become agents of change. Then it struck
upon a plan that is truly groundbreaking.
"What if," Bill Twist asked one day while we were trekking
together through Ecuador's Amazon jungle, "we leveraged these
forests— standing, not cut—to buy off Ecuador's foreign loans?"
We sat down on a log in a sunny clearing beside a giant kapok
tree, its mammoth roots slanting off from the trunk into the
ground like the flying buttresses of a medieval European
cathedral, and talked about the fact that the rainforests are
essential for all of us; they absorb carbon dioxide, produce
oxygen, impact global climate, generate fresh water, contain
millions of species of plants, animals, insects, birds, and fish, and
through their flora may offer cures for cancers, AIDS, and other
diseases. We discussed Ecuador's external debt, one of the highest
in Latin America and, at over $18 billion,
306 6BUYING OFF THIRD-WORLD DEBT
equal to twice the national budget. Servicing that debt drains
funds critical for health, education, housing, and other social and
environmental programs.53
I pointed out that most of Ecuador's debt was incurred through
the wiles of EH Ms in order to enrich U.S. oil companies and
other businesses and a few corrupt local officials. Once again
World Bank and IMF policies had served the interests of the
corporatocracy, at the expense of the Ecuadorian people.
"Right now," Bill observed, "the only way Ecuador can pay
off that debt is by selling its crude to our oil companies. In the
process the rainforests are raped." He paused as a bright blue
butterfly—the size of a pancake—flew into our clearing. It
hovered near Bill's shoulder and then fluttered off to a cluster of
crimson bromeliads. "My idea is to use the standing forests as a
resource, to send a message that they're worth more to the world
than oil, a sort of debt-for-nature swap. Ecuador will protect a
resource that is vital to all of us, in exchange for debt relief."
"It's a great idea," I said. "But that's an awful lot of money."
"Of course." Bill gave me a knowing smile that I have come to
understand indicates that he is dead serious. A Stanford
University graduate, his background in the management
consulting, equipment leasing, and financial services businesses
prepared him to think big.
That conversation was in 2001. For the next few years Bill
devoted his personal energies to turning his idea into a reality. In
August 2006, representatives of TPA signed an agreement with
the Ecuadorian Ministry of Environment and the Ministry of
Economics and Finance to conduct a feasibility study for a "Green
Plan" in the Amazon. The agreement provides financing for
sustainable development of the region, including analyzing the
negative impacts of oil exploration, redefining the value of
rainforests, and appraising the potential benefits of future
scientific breakthroughs that are likely to increase demand for
plants. Quantifying these values will enable Ecuador to bargain
for conservation. For example, if a section
EMPIRE
of standing forest is valued at $i billion, Ecuador could
commit to protect that section, allowing medical and other
researchers to use it in sustainable ways, in exchange for a $1
billion reduction to its foreign debt. A system of checks and
balances would include obligations on the part of the creditors
and watchdog organizations that they would not permit oil
companies—or other threatening activities—to enter that section.
As a TPA board member I have watched this organization
grow from that breakfast meeting in 1994 to a force that
significantly impacts the Ecuadorian government and the oil
giants. "The Green Plan is the first step," Bill told me recently. "In
developing new approaches to solving the debt problem, we're
creating a model that other countries can use to protect their lands
from exploitation. We see this as an innovative approach to
funding sustainable and equitable development."
In addition, TPA has trained nearly three hundred facilitators
in five countries to teach Awakening the Dreamer symposiums
aimed at empowering people to impact the world through
everyday choices and actions. The goal is to have several
thousand facilitators reach millions of people in the next few
years. This is part of Lynne Twist's vision of the future. "We want
to cure the symptoms— rainforest destruction and unfair debt—
but we realize that we must also cure the disease: our shortsighted
materialistic ways of seeing the world," she told me.
Lynne, Bill, and I have often discussed this idea of attacking
the root cause of the crisis confronting us. Doing so requires that
we answer that third question posed at the beginning of this part
of the book: By what principle do we validate our actions?
The American colonists had a unifying principle. They
opposed tyranny and were determined to gain freedom and
liberty. In our time these continue to be guiding lights. But, given
the many divergent views and customs in the world today, it
seems we need a goal that is more universal. Words like tyranny,
freedom, and liberty are subject to interpretation. As we saw in
earlier parts of this book,
308
there are people in Africa who view the United States as
tyrannical; people in Latin America, Asia, and the Middle East
who believe we support regimes that suppress their freedoms and
liberty. How do we answer that third question? How do we
ascertain that rather than seeking to impose our moral, religious,
or philosophical values on others we intend to create something of
true and lasting benefit?
62
Five Commonalities
On a sunny day in 2006, the morning after I spoke at the
University of Colorado, Sarah McCune and Joseph Peha picked
me up at my Boulder hotel. Students at the University of Denver,
they had been instrumental in arranging for me to lecture at their
school. Sarah, an international studies and political science
student, had spent time in Latin America, Africa, and South Asia.
Joseph was focusing on international studies, Spanish, and art. He
had lived for six months in Argentina where he attended the
University of Cuyo in Mendoza.
I rode up front next to Joseph. Sarah sat behind him. With the
Rockies as a backdrop, I expected to settle in for a relaxing drive
to Denver. Nothing could have been further from their minds.
They plied me with questions about my life as an EHM and my
current attitudes toward the things I had done. Then I asked how
they felt about the world my generation was handing over to
them.
"Apprehension," Sarah responded. "Fear. This really is an
impressionable time for us. People your age say that who we
become in our twenties will determine what we'll do for the rest
of our lives. Words like that terrify us. We wonder what's coming
next."
"It's not that we don't want to move on with our lives or grow
up," Joseph added. "We just don't want to enter the rat race and
spend the next forty years clawing up the corporate ladder,
changing careers, ending up with a midlife crisis."
Later that evening we drove to a restaurant in Denver where
we were joined by other students and Professor Robert Prince, a
senior lecturer at the University of Denver who, like me, had been
a Peace Corps volunteer in the sixties; for the students, he was not
only an
310FIVE COMMONALITIES
inspiring teacher but also an example of a man who walked his
talk, someone they could aspire to emulate.
"These kids are amazing," Professor Rob told me. "They see
what's going on in the world and they're determined to change it.
I'm afraid that for the most part our educational system tries to
subvert them, turn them into cogs. Guys like you and I have to
give them an out, help them see that they can channel their energy
into positive actions. So many brilliant minds waiting to be
tapped."
Over and over that evening I heard the students talk about the
broken system they are inheriting. They also expressed the hope
that RAN, Amnesty, MoveOn, The Pachamama Alliance, and
other NGOs inspired in them. I was deeply impressed by their
determination and spirit.
Sarah, Joseph, and another friend, Eric Kornacki, drove me
back to my hotel after dinner. Eric talked about the research he
was conducting on a local company, the New Belgium Brewing
Company in Ft. Collins, Colorado. "It's not just that I like their
beer." He chuckled. "I like the way they treat people. They're at
the vanguard of how business should be conducted." He glanced
at his companions. "Commonalities." Then to me, "We've
identified a few factors common among good organizations."
"Five," Sarah added. "Equity, transparency, trust, cooperation,
and prosperity for everyone involved. In essence, the basic
ingredients for democracy." They told me about the companies
they were studying that are incorporating these principles into
their business plans. They were finding models that ranged from a
tile factory in Argentina to organic food co-ops in the Midwest.
Those University of Denver students were formulating the answer to that third question about a unifying principle. Then a
couple of high school students came to me in a most unexpected
place and offered insights that floored me.
311
63
Times of Opportunity
I was invited as a keynote speaker at the 2006 Veterans for
Peace-national convention in Seattle. The idea of meeting with
men and women who had risked their lives for their country and
now clamored for peace was intriguing. I knew that many had lost
limbs and suffered other serious wounds—emotional as well as
physical. What were they thinking now?
During my cross-country flight, I read the galley proofs for
The Good Remembering by my friend Llyn Roberts, a book that
reflects native wisdom from around the world. I was particularly
struck by the following:
We live in profound times of opportunity. In reading the newspaper
we can feel overwhelmed by the daily crises that seem to jump from
the headlines. Yet, we know that crisis and chaos can be pivotal
ingredients for insight and change—they often force choices we
were previously blind to. Times like these beg us to listen and also
to heed the messages we receive.
That paragraph summed up my thinking about the NGOs that
are convincing corporations to be good citizens and the executives
who respond by taking positive actions. These are indeed
"profound times of opportunity." I had a feeling that the veterans
needed to hear that good news.
Once in Seattle, I mingled with the veterans, attending an
evening reception, an "open mike" poetry reading, and several of
their workshops. I shared a beer with a woman who had spent
twenty-one years in the army and resigned in disgust when we
invaded Iraq for the second time. I heard a legless man sing a
lament that
312TIMES OF OPPORTUNITY
brought wild applause from his fellow warriors: "I sacrificed
my legs so that Georgie Bushie and Dickie Cheney can pour oil-ie
over their sundaes of golden caviar-ie."
I felt their frustration, anger, and determination to right a
wrong they had helped perpetrate. I did not write a speech or even
outline one. I wanted instead to speak from my heart. I knew that
my presentation would be open to the public, but I desired above
all else to talk directly to these veterans.
Once I stood before them in that vast hall and looked at their
faces, I felt a deep kinship with them. Gone was my rage when as
a Boston University student during the Vietnam War I tried to
block them from boarding ships at the Boston Navy Yards. Gone
too was the fury over their firebombing of Panama City. All I felt
up there at that podium was compassion for other human beings
who had been exploited by the corporatocracy. Despite any
disagreements we might have harbored in the past, they were my
brothers and sisters. They too had seen the folly and they now had
come together as Veterans for Peace. The novelty and the power
of this concept—of soldiers gathering for peace—struck me
deeply.
I cannot recall the details of what I said that night. I know I
urged them to understand the message in Llyn Roberts's book,
that crises can pave the way for change. I implored them not to
blame the Bush administration alone, to realize that the
corporatocracy is much bigger than any single president. I talked
about the NGOs that so courageously fight for change, and I
praised the armies of RAN volunteers who commandeered the
public-address systems at Home Depots across the land. I
beseeched those veterans to believe in themselves and their
organization and to know that they can create the type of world
they wanted when they accepted their uniforms and swore to
defend democracy. And then I heard myself repeat a thought I had
expressed to many audiences.
"In order for my grandchildren to grow up in a peaceful,
sustainable, and stable world, every child in Africa, Latin
America, the Middle East, and Asia must grow up in a stable,
sustainable, and
EMPIRE
peaceful world." This time as I spoke those words I realized
that I was defining another part of that unifying principle.
After I left the podium and headed for the book-signing table,
two young men approached me.
One of the organizers tried to brush them off. "Can't you see,"
she said, "there's a long line waiting for him?"
But they would not be discouraged. They introduced
themselves as Joel Bray and Tyler Thompson, sophomores at
Olympia High School in Olympia, Washington, and University
Preparatory School in Seattle, respectively. They told me that
reading Confessions had convinced them to take action. As we
snaked our way through the crowd, one of them said that he was
deeply moved by my statement earlier that evening about
grandchildren. "Those are my children," he told me. "Not
grandchildren. That is the most important thing for all of us to
realize. Our children have no future unless all children have a
future."
They came around to the back of the table and stood near my
chair. They waited until I had signed all the books and finally
turned my full attention to them.
"We've started a club called Global Awareness and Change
[GAC|," Joel explained.
"Setting it up as two sister clubs, we hoped to be able to
organize larger events between our schools and cities, and in that
way reach many more people," Tyler chimed in. "After a few
weeks of planning, we've already contacted hundreds of people
and organizations whose goals are similar to ours, as well as
getting support from more students and teachers at our schools."
"So far," Joel added, "everybody we've talked to has
responded positively, enthusiastically. It seems they all want to do
their part. We decided to cover many different issues in the areas
of politii I ecology, sociology, and economics. But after reading
your book ami seeing Al Gore's movie, An Inconvenient Truth,
we thought we should focus on the economy and the environment,
and how these two are related to each other."
314TIMES OF OPPORTUNITY
"We know you're very busy, but would like to e-mail you to
fill you in on what we're doing." Tyler handed me a slip of paper
so that I could give them my e-mail address.
Several days after I returned home from Seattle I received an
e-mail from Joel and Tyler. It included the following:
Mission Statement:
Global Awareness and Change (GAC) is a club that seeks to
promote awareness, change, and the eventual solution of global
issues. The world we live in is currently faced by many social,
political, economic, and environmental problems, and we will
see the effects of each of these issues in our own lifetimes.
Moreover, for a solution to not only be found but also to be
implemented, it is necessary to gather the help and active
support of everyone in our community. The goal of GAC is to
educate people about these issues while at the same time taking
an active role in solving them. Together, and only this way,
will we be able to reverse the effects that we ourselves have
put in motion. Our ability to live is what is at stake.
I felt gratified by the urgency of these high school students.
They had not been lulled by an education system that tries to
divert them from critical issues by focusing on testing, homework,
grades, college admissions, job searches, and the other forms of
performance trauma. They had not been anesthetized by
television. Or immobilized by fear. These two young men had
reached a profound understanding. They knew that their "ability
to live is what is at stake." They—not just their children or
grandchildren—would be impacted by the horrible state of affairs
my generation was leaving behind. They also realized that no
solution will work unless it encompasses the entire world. And
they believed that they can and will succeed.
As I reread their e-mail, I realized that the unifying principle
must embrace their commitment to involve everyone in the
community. It must encompass the principles advocated by the
NGOs
EMPIRE
of social, environmental, and economic justice. It needs to
take into account those five commonalities expressed by the
University of Denver students. It has to honor the feminine
insistence that children grow up feeling secure and nurtured.
Instead of the moral or religious, it must emphasize the pragmatic,
articulating a truly universal desire, shared by all men and women
and in fact by all life-forms. And it has to be simple, something
everyone can commit to memory. I jotted words down on the
back of that paper:
The unifying principle is a commitment to creating a stable,
sustainable, and peaceful world for all people everywhere.
I was tempted to add something about recognizing that no
child can inherit such a world unless all children do. However,
this seemed self-evident. The same seemed true for the idea of
"equitable." Then I thought about including plants, animals, and
the environment, but decided that the words stable and
sustainable address this. Best to keep it short and uncomplicated.
We commit to creating a stable, sustainable, and peaceful world
for all people everywhere.
Until Denver and Seattle, I had thought of this as an important
time in history. I now realized that the college and high school
students and the veteran warriors who demanded an end to war—
combined with all my conversations with people in the NGOs and
ideas about turning imperialistic capitalism into democratic
capitalism— had convinced me that this is the most important
time in history.
We know that our society is faltering, that we are exploited,
that our leaders thrive on instability and inequality, and yet we
have been taught to doubt that we really do know these things.
Our besi tation is summed up in one question that is asked by
someone at nearly every presentation I give. It is the single most
important question before us today.
316
64
The Most Important Question of Our
Time
"Before I ask my question, I want to say that I agree with
you." The woman standing at the center aisle microphone was
probably in her late thirties or early forties. She had flowing
auburn hair and a pleasing smile that reminded me of Meryl
Streep. In her sky-blue blouse and beige slacks, she might have
been a teacher, lawyer, artist, or housewife. "To change the world,
we must persuade corporations to change their goals; they have
got to move from serving a few rich people to focusing on making
better lives for the rest of us—as well as protecting the
environments and communities where we all live." She smiled
sweetly. "I totally agree."
By now I was pretty sure I knew what was coming; she was
about to ask the question that always came up, the question that
haunted everyone. It was the final question on my list of the four
we all must address.
She placed both hands on her hips and gave me a rather
defiant look. "But what can I do—me personally—to make that
happen?"
"There it is," I said for my own ears. I cleared my throat.
"Thank you."
Back when I first began my speaking tour, I wondered
whether people have always asked this question. Or is it a unique
characteristic of the post-Hitler, post-A-bombVietnam~Watergate-9/11-Iraq era? Have we always felt so small
and helpless? Or just now? .
Attempting to figure this out, I often thought about my
grandfather. He owned a small furniture business in rural New
Hampshire during the Depression. He died before I was born but I
was raised in the shadow of his reputation. Legend held that he
never made a major decision without agreement from his
employees. He
3l7THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN
EMPIRE
professed that his children could not live good lives unless the
poorest members of his community lived good lives.
Consequently he dedicated himself to pulling that community out
of the Depression. He and other businessmen chose not to use
their savings to exploit the destitute by purchasing their homes
and farms for a few cents on the dollar; instead, they built an
economy that offered jobs to the unemployed—to woodcutters,
carpenters, street sweepers, plumbers, weavers, and upholsterers.
My grandfather was never described to me as a Good Samaritan;
rather his legend was that of a wise man who understood that his
as-yet-unborn-grandson's future would be secure only if the
futures of the grandchildren of those destitute farmers and
laborers were also secure.
I also thought about my father. I suppose he could have
written Hitler off as a European despot. "Killed a few million—so
what? I'm not Jewish. I live across the Atlantic. I'm safe." He
could have rationalized his way out of it. Or, as a language
teacher, accepted a safe job as a trainer of translators. Instead, he
volunteered for the Navy and headed up armed guard crews that
manned the guns on merchant marine oil tankers crossing the
Atlantic—an incredibly dangerous job.
I thought about the suffragettes, union organizers, civil rights
workers, anti-Vietnam protesters, the young girls who stuck
flowers into rifle barrels, and the students who lay down in front
of tanks in Moscow and Beijing. Those times seemed long gone.
Yet many of those activities happened during my adult life.
Which got me to thinking about now—and the men and
women who lie on the ground before bulldozers in the forests of
Oregon, the Colombian farmers who chain themselves to fences
to defy corporate mercenaries trying to force them off their lands,
the athletes who refuse to play in sweatshop-made uniforms,
those who sing, climb buildings to hang banners, write poetry,
shop only at environmentally friendly and socially responsible coops or privately owned local stores, and the ones—like my own
daughter—who give up lucrative corporate careers to dedicate
themselves to causes and
318THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION OF OUR
TIME
lifestyles that offer more than money. They are doing all these
things today.
"You know," I replied to the auburn-haired lady in the skyblue blouse and beige slacks, "I hear that question a lot. And I'm
not sure why I hear it. You and I live in a country that prides itself
on being a democracy. On taking action." I told the stories of my
grandfather and my father. "Please don't feel that you're alone
though." I looked around at my audience. "How many share this
woman's question? How many of you want to know what you can
do to make things better?"
The room was a forest of hands. I turned to the woman; she
gave me a relieved nod. "Why do we feel so powerless?" I asked
her. "Hint, the corporatocracy has a collaborator in taking away
our power."
Her brow wrinkled. Then she gave me that Meryl Streep
smile. "Us."
"Right. They can't take away our power unless we allow them
to."
She started to step away from the microphone. But thought
better of it. "So, I repeat," she said with a gentle smile. "What can
I do?"
"Take back your power. And convince everyone you know to
do the same." I looked from her to the rest of my audience. "If
you're tempted to say 'The problem's too big, the corporations and
government too strong, I don't stand a chance,' that's just a copout on your part." I paused to let this sink in. "Thank God our
forefathers back in the 1770s didn't say 'Oh, the King of England?
He's too powerful... I can't do anything about him.'"
I told that audience as I have told many others that we today
need to recognize that every one of the Founding Fathers and
Mothers stuck their heads in nooses. They stood against the most
powerful empire in history, and it happened to be their own
government. They were traitors, terrorists in the eyes of the
Crown; they faced hanging. Today we honor their courage, as we
honor the courage of my father and other members of his
generation who stopped Hitler. We honor their generosity, their
willingness to make sacrifices.
EMPIRE
We too must be courageous. And generous. We must be
willing to pay more for diamonds and gold, laptops and cell
phones—and insist that the miners receive fair wages, health care
and insurance— and we must pay more for goods that are not
produced in sweatshops but are made in places that treat their
employees fairly. We must drive smaller, more fuel-efficient cars,
cut back on total energy use and general consumption, and protect
natural environments along with the diversity of species that
inhabit them. It is imperative that we develop an awareness that
every action we take and every product we buy impacts other
people and the places where they live; collectively, our lifestyles
today determine the future our children and grandchildren will
inherit. Like those who have gone before us, we must be willing
to make sacrifices—including, if necessary, the ultimate
sacrifice—to ensure that we leave our progeny a world that is at
least as good as the one our parents gave to us.
Individuals make a difference. I know it is easy to forget—the
corporatocracy spends billions every year trying to convince us
that we do not make a difference, except when we buy Product A
of Brand B. But we all understand that people impact people.
Remember the men and women at RAN, Amnesty, The
Pachamama Alliance, MoveOn, and other similar organizations.
Recall people who have impacted you personally.
Growing up in rural New Hampshire, I had no idea that
African Americans were forced to ride at the back of buses in
some parts of the South, until a woman named Rosa Parks
showed me. Lots of poison ivy grew around our house; we were
oblivious to the fact that the DDT we sprayed to eradicate it also
killed fish, birds, squirrels, and lots of other species, until Rachel
Carson wrote Silent Spring. That book mushroomed into a global
environmental movement. Eugene McCarthy started another
movement—a political one— that brought down one of this
nation's most powerful presidents, Lyndon Johnson. McCarthy
never won the presidency but he gets a lot of credit for ending the
Vietnam War. Coretta and Martin Luthd King Jr. taught us about
the power of dreams; they broke through
320THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION OF OUR
TIME
race barriers not just here but also in South Africa and so
many other places. My father instilled in me a deep respect for the
principles expressed in the Declaration of Independence. My
mother encouraged me to write editorials for my high school
newspaper and listened for hours as I rehearsed for the debate
team. Without the encouragement of my parents, I would not be
writing this book.
I recited these things for my audience that night. Then I
glanced at the woman who had stood at the microphone and was
now back in her seat. "Do you have a job?" I asked. She nodded.
"Are you willing to tell us what?"
"I'm a teacher."
"An amazingly privileged position," I said. "I had a thirdgrade teacher, Mrs. Schnare, who empowered me to stand up to a
schoolyard bully and then lectured me about always defending my
beliefs, as well as my body. My sophomore year in high school,
an English teacher, Richard Davis, implanted in me the idea that
the pen really is mightier than the sword; a year later, my history
teacher, Jack Woodbury, assigned books that convinced me that
the powerful are also vulnerable. 'Even monarchs,' he would say,
'are people. Their hearts break, like yours and mine. They bleed.
They can be brought around-—or taken down.'"
She walked slowly back to the microphone. The man at the
front of the line bowed and yielded his position to her. "I guess I
knew that," she said. "But sometimes it used to seem easier to
forget it. Not anymore. I am a teacher. I will teach now, truly
teach."
321
65
Today Is the Day
We are tempted these days to ask for formulaic solutions. It is
what the corporatocracy has taught us to do. Follow the dotted
line. If you have a headache, take the white pill; for heartburn, the
pink one. Never question authority. The teacher has all the
answers. Or the priest. The politician. Boss. CEO. President.
Formulaic solutions, our rigid adherence to prescribed
approaches, anxiety over deviating from the norm—these
preconditioned responses have swept us into deep trouble. We
may flatter ourselves that we are a rational, science-based society;
the sad truth is that we embrace the emperor's contention that he
alone is privy to the answers. It is a lie.
A friend of mine recently suffered a serious heart attack. After
a triple bypass he reported that the doctor "informed me that
medical science couldn't prove my diet was the cause, but it was a
real possibility. I changed my diet." We are in a similar situation
on a global scale. It is symbolic of these times that our
government insists that we need absolute proof that climate
change is caused by man-made carbon dioxide before rewriting
our environmental laws. Absolute proof. From whom?
Throughout history, men and women we now revere have
questioned the status quo. We applaud people like Galileo, Joan
of Arc, Molly Stark, Thomas Edison, Jonas Salk, Helen Keller,
Gandhi, and the Dalai Lama. It is important to remember that all
of these people were just that: people. They were individuals, like
you and me. They knew fear and courage, sorrow and joy. They
may have accomplished extraordinary things, but every one of
them also faced obstacles
322TODAY IS THE DAY
that must have appeared insurmountable at times; they
experimented, persevered, and (now we can say) succeeded.
There are no formulaic solutions, but there are lots of women
and men to inspire us. They fill the pages of this book: from a
Sudanese brother and sister to an indigenous man who became
president of his country; from Peace Corps volunteers to founders
of NGOs; from high school students to college professors, writers
to filmmakers; they include people talking to their neighbors and
ones supporting local NPR stations. Glance around. They are
everywhere.
Look into the mirror. You are one of them.
You make a difference. Every day. In one way or another, you
impact the folks near you. The important thing is to be aware of
this and then to set about doing it consciously, in positive ways
that will make the world a better place. Each day commit to
creating a stable, sustainable, and peaceful world for all people
everywhere.
I tell my audiences: "If you want me to map out a course of
action for you, then you're asking me to do as the corporatocracy
does. You don't want that. You have your own passions and
talents, different from mine. There are, of course, certain steps we
can take. These are simple things that we all know about. Doing
as many of them as possible will help you feel good and will also
head us toward a sur-vivable future." A few examples:
To Do
• When tempted to engage in "retail therapy" instead jog,
meditate, read, or find some other solution.
• Shop consciously if there is something you must have;
purchase items whose packaging, ingredients, and methods of
production are sustainable and support life.
• Make everything you own last as long as possible.
• Purchase at consignment and thrift stores where everything
is recycled.
EMPIRE
• Protest against "free" trade agreements and sweatshops.
• Write letters telling Monsanto, De Beers, ExxonMobil,
Adidas, Ford, GE, Coca-Cola, Wal-Mart, and other labor
exploiters and environment destroyers why you refuse to purchase
from them.
• Write letters praising Home Depot, Kinko's, Citicorp,
Starbucks, Whole Foods, and other companies that cooperate with
RAN, Amnesty International, and other NGOs.
• Cut back on oil and gas consumption.
• Downsize your car, home, wardrobe, everything in your life.
• Send money to nonprofits, radio stations, and other
organizations that promote just causes.
• Volunteer your time and energy to such organizations.
• Support local merchants.
• Encourage stores to buy from local growers, producers, and
suppliers.
• Shop at your local farmers' market.
• Drink tap water (get the water company to do a better job if
necessary, but avoid buying bottled water).
• Vote for enlightened school boards, commissions,
ordinances, and politicians.
• Run for office.
• Insist that those who use your money—banks, pensions,
mutual funds, companies—make socially and environmentally
responsible investments.
• Speak out whenever forums present themselves.
• Volunteer to talk at your local school about your favorite
subject (beekeeping, weaving, tennis, anything) and use it to
challenge students, to wake them up.
• Discuss externalities, the costs of pollution, poor working
conditions, public subsidies, corporate exemptions, and other
environmental, social, and political factors that should be
included in the prices we pay for goods and services but are not
(discussed in Chapter 54); let people know that when we do not
pay for these very real expenses we rob future generations.
324TODAY IS THE DAY
• Encourage "taxes" on externalities—higher prices for gas,
clothes, electricity, etc., as long as the difference pays to right
social and environmental wrongs.
• Offer study groups at local libraries, bookstores, churches,
and clubs.
• Expand this list and share it with everyone you know.
All the items listed above impact corporate and political
leaders. To break the stranglehold this empire has on our planet
we must remove power from the seventh characteristic of
empires, the emperor, the corporatocracy. Only through
transforming their vehicles of control, the corporations, will we
succeed in manifesting the world we wish to leave to our children.
It is our right and our duty to demand that corporations become
good citizens, that they desist from operating imperialistically,
and that instead they embrace the laws of democracy.
Let your actions—the ways you spend your money and cast
your votes—send strong messages that those charged with
running our organizations need to dedicate themselves to creating
a stable, sustainable, and peaceful world.
"Are you asking me to pay more for my T-shirts? Not shop at
Wal-Mart? To buy from places where unions drive the prices
higher?" These are questions I often hear, usually followed by, "I
work hard, I've got kids. I can't afford to make such sacrifices."
"I'm asking you," I respond, "not to sacrifice your children's
futures. Make sure the brands you buy are made by
environmentally and socially responsible companies. Wal-Mart
does not meet those criteria—at least not yet. Wear fewer T-shirts
if necessary. Keep them longer. Remember too that sometimes
you actually pay more for the sweatshop brands. Nike products
aren't cheap. Be sure to let the 'good' companies and stores know
why you patronize them and let the 'bad' ones know why you
don't."
This last is critical. We must work together to send a new
message across our planet; those impacted by our actions need to
hear
EMPIRE
our reasons and feel our passions. The corporatocracy prospers
from deception and secrecy. We must expose their lies.
Think of the stories of assassination and corruption you read
earlier in this book, the ones that made your skin crawl. When
you do not shop and live consciously, you ensure that these
stories will continue to unfold; you support the EHMs and jackals.
As a boy growing up in New Hampshire, I wished that I had
been born in the 1700s so I could have participated in the
Revolution. Now I give thanks that I am alive today. I know that
you and I have launched ourselves on perhaps the greatest
adventure our country has ever known, and one of the most
exciting in world history.
I like to make a special appeal to people over fifty years old.
"Many of you no longer need to worry about being fired," I say.
"Your children have left the nest. So, this is your time to make a
real difference. Stick your neck out. Mentor the young. Shake up
the boardrooms. Take action—and enjoy it."
And to the young I say, "Some of you can work for
corporations and inspire change from within. Others will only be
corrupted by the process, and should instead work from the
outside, for NGOs or other such organizations. You alone know
what is best for you. Above all, understand that success is not
defined by the size of your house, or by cars and yachts—it comes
when you feel good about yourself."
I encourage everyone to join activist organizations.
Throughout our history civil movements, like the Sons of Liberty
during the American Revolution, have been essential to our
democracy. Never have they been more needed than today. Lists
are provided in Appendices A and B. You can find others on the
Internet by searching for words that describe your deepest
passions and deciding which most appeal to you. Participate in
their e-mail campaigns, rallies, and demonstrations, donate ten
dollars or ten thousand dollars, volunteer to answer telephones—
or simply get yourself added to their lists, be counted, and commit
to learning more.
We possess all the resources we need for a world that is stable,
sustainable, and peaceful. The corporatocracy has provided them
326TODAY IS THE DAY
for us. The education, communications, financial, and
transportation networks, the minerals and other resources, the
scientific information and technological advances are here to
serve us. We can save future children from dying of hunger and
disease, provide basic amenities, close the gap between poor and
wealthy, and we can see to it that the corporations pay their fare
share to the communities where they operate. But the key is that
you and I have to stand up and be counted!
In addition to deception and secrecy, the corporatocracy
thrives on lethargy. It counts on us to remain passive, to accept its
advertisements as gospel, to buy unconsciously and allow it to
continue destroying our planet. This must stop. Every one of us
must shake ourselves awake. Taking action is the only way to
ensure that our children and grandchildren, our nieces and
nephews and their children, will inherit a world that is not torn
apart in hatred and suffering, not ravaged by war and terrorism.
You personally have a great deal of power; it is essential that
you allow your passions to rise up, channel them in ways that
complement your talents, and take action. The course you choose
must come from your heart, not from the dictates of anyone else.
You simply need to step forward.
Am I optimistic? Absolutely. How can I not be, given what I
know about the thousands of organizations that are successfully
fomenting change, all the people working for corporations who
want an excuse to do the right thing, and the millions of unsung
heroes who donate their time or money to good causes? How can
I be anything other than optimistic given what I know about the
power you and I have?
Over the past one hundred years we Americans have pledged
ourselves to what we called "progress." We visualized huge cities
where automobiles replaced horses and electricity lit our homes
and ran mammoth factories, and where we could enjoy fresh
produce in the middle of a northern winter. We applied ourselves
to tasks aimed at realizing these and similar visions every day.
We talked
EMPIRE
about our dreams and produced books, movies, and TV shows
glorifying them. We encouraged everyone to join in this process.
Caught up in it, we became so preoccupied that we allowed a few
men to exploit us and the world. They dreamed of empire and
they used their media networks to convince us that their empire
was a democracy, a champion of the oppressed, a promoter of a
healthy planet. Subtly, without us noticing, our vision was
transformed into a sort of nightmare.
We allowed it to happen and we can reverse it. Our true
vision, we now realize, was about pulling ourselves out of
poverty, living healthier, more dignified lives. Wanting to rid
ourselves of the pollution caused by streets jammed with horses
and buildings that lacked sanitation systems, desiring greater
comfort and more nutritious diets, we embraced visions that
appeared to satisfy our needs—and did for a while. Now we see
that we were duped by the corporatocracy into employing
methods that were selfish and destructive. The visions they
foisted on us excluded billions of people; they damaged habitats
and the species living in them; they threaten us, our offspring, and
the very survival of the planet as we know it.
Today our country exhibits all seven of those characteristics of
an empire that were defined in the Prologue of this book. This is
not what we intended. It is not what we want. It is, in fact,
contrary to our most basic beliefs. We desire something more
important than materialistic consumption and the comforts
afforded by our modern cities, cars, factories, and shopping malls.
Our dream is about life. It is about enjoying peace, stability, and a
sustainable planet, about adults dedicated to passing the ideals we
most cherish on to our children.
One of those children recently identified the essence of both
the problem we humans have created and the solution to that
problem. Sayre Allyn Herrick heard my graduation address to her
school, Hartsbrook High School in Hadley, Massachusetts, in
2006, during her junior year. The next fall she wrote the following
essay:
328TODAY IS THE DAY
I saw the entire world for the first time in second grade, laid
out on a paper map. The ocean was blue and the countries were
yellow, green, and pink. This way of looking at our planet has
shaped the perceptions of people for hundreds of years.
Just once, I would like to catch a glimpse of the world free
from any human perception except my own—to see our globe
suspended in dark space the way it must look from the window of
a shuttle. I want to see that the borders and names imprinted on
maps are our own creation. In recognizing the impermanence of
the man-made boundaries that separate us, we can reveal how
truly united we all are on this planet.
What we have been shown or told to be true can stay with us
forever. Yet, I think it is our task as an evolving world community
to take even the most fundamental preconceptions, recognize
them for what they are, and realize their impact on us. Only then
can we begin to take the actions necessary for the survival of future generations.
The hour has now arrived for us to take those actions. We
have acquired everything we need to realize a new vision. All the
resources, the networks, and systems are in place. In recent years
we have also found that we have the will. We—you and I—
possess the necessary tools.
Today is the day for us to begin to truly change the world.
Appendix A
Organizations Described in This Book
Amnesty International
www.amnesty.org
Cinema Libre Studio
www.cinemalibrestudio .com
Democracy Now!
www.democracynow.org
Dream Change
www.dreamchange.org
Ecova-mali
(founded by Gregory Flatt, Cynthia Hellman, and Sire Diallo
to promote sustainable development in Mali) www.ecovamali.org
Educating for Justice
{founded by Jim Ready and Leslie Kretzu, filmmakers who
lived like Nike workers in Indonesia)
www.educatingforjustice.org Sweat, the film depicting conditions
of Nike workers: www.sweatthefilm.org
Global Awareness and Change Club (GAC)
{founded by high school students Joel Bray and Tyler
Thompson) At www.dreamchange.org, see "Dream Change
Projects"
Global Dialogue Center, The
www.globaldialoguecenter.com
MoveOn
www.moveon.org
331
Pachamama Alliance, The
www.pachamama.org
Rainforest Action Network
www.ran.org
Appendix B
Entry Points for Living Democracy
By Frances Moore Lappe
Author of Diet for a Small Planet and Democracy's Edge: Choosing to
Save Our Country by Bringing Democracy to Life
Tens of thousands of citizen initiatives nationwide are
transforming the very meaning of democracy into a living
practice. Linking and learning with them, we each can find
satisfying entry points to help break the dominant cycle of
destruction. In my 2006 book Democracy's Edge I strive to
capture the lessons they are teaching. John Perkins kindly
welcomed me to share with his readers some of the organizations
and resources highlighted in that book. The following list is
abridged to reflect the nature of John's book. For a more extensive
compilation, please see Democracy's Edge.
Also, please visit www.democracysedge.org for additional
leads. Many have newsletters and other publications. Some have
training programs. Reach out and be inspired! I also welcome you
to search the American News Service (my 1990s newswire) for
our online archive of 1,600 still-relevant stories of citizens
tackling our biggest problems—from health care to reforming
prisons—at www.smallplanetinstitute.org/ans.php.
National and International Environmental and Social
Issues
Association of Community Organizations for Reform Now (ACORN)
Tel: (877) 55ACORN
Web site: www.acorn.org
Bioneers
Tel: (877) BIONEER
Web site: www.bioneers.org
The Gamaliel Foundation
Tel: (312) 357-2639
Web site: www.gamaliel.org
333APPENDIX B
Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF)
Tel.: (312) 245-9211
Web site: www.industrialareasfoundation.org
National People's Action (NPA)
Tel: (312) 243-3038
Web site: www.npa-us.org
National Training and Information Center (NTIC)
Tel: (312) 243-3035
Web site: www.ntic-us.org
Pacific Institute for Community Organizations (PICO)
Tel.: (510) 655-2801
Web site: www.piconetwork.org
Working for a More Democratic Political System
Center for Responsive Politics
Tel.: (202) 857-0044
Web site: www.opensecrets.org
Center for Voting and Democracy
Tel: (301) 270-4616
Web site: www.fairvote.org/irv
Clean Elections Institute, Inc. Tel:
(602) 840-6633 Web site:
www.azclean.org
Common Cause
Tel.: (202) 833-1200
Web site: www.commoncause.org
InstantRunoff.com
Tel.: (312) 587-7060
Web site: www.instantrunoff.com
League of Independent Voters/League of Pissed-Off Voters
Tel.: (212) 283-8879
Web site: www.indyvoter.org
League of Women Voters
Tel.: (202) 429-1965
Web site: www.lwv.org
534APPENDIX B
Public Campaign
Tel.: (202) 293-0222
Web site: www.publicampaign.org
Public Citizen
Tel.: (202) 588-1000
Web site: www.citizen.org
Working Families Party
Tel.: (718) 222-3796
Web site: www.workingfamiliesparty.org
Working for a More Democratic Economy
The Alliance for Democracy
Tel.: (781) 894-1179
Web site: www.thealliancefordemocracy.org
American Independent Business Alliance (AMIBA)
Tel.: (406) 582-1255
Web site: www.amiba.net
As You Sow Foundation
Tel.: (415) 391-3212
Web site: www.asyousow.org
Bi-Mart
Tel: (800) 456-0681
Web site: www.bimart.com
Business Alliance for Local Living Economies (BALLE)
Tel.: (415) 348-6284
Web site: www.livingeconomies.org
Center for Working Capital
Tel.: (202) 974-8020
Web site: www.centerforworkingcapital.org
Citizens Trade Campaign
Tel.: (202) 778-3320
Web site: www.citizenstrade.org
Clean Clothes Connection
Tel.: (207) 947-4203
Web site: www.cleanclothesconnection.org/search.asp
335 <SAPPENDIX B
Coalition for Environmentally Responsible Economies (CERES)
Tel.: (617) 247-0700
Web site: www.ceres.org
Co-Op America
,
Tel: (800) 584-7336
Web site: www.coopamerica.org
Corporate Accountability International
Tel: (617) 695-2525
Web site: www.stopcorporateabuse.org
The Corporation
Web site: www.thecorporation.com
Domini Social Investments
Tel: (800) 762-6814
Web site: www.domini.com
Dow Jones Sustainability World Index (DJSI World)
Zurich, Switzerland
Tel.: (+41-1) 395-2828
Web site: www.sustainability-index.com
Ecological Footprint Quiz
Web site: www.myfootprint.org
E. F. Schumacher Society
Tel: (413) 528-1737
Web site: www.schumachersociety.org
Fair Labor Association
Tel.: (202) 898-1000
Web site: www.fairlabor.org
Fair Trade Resource Network
Tel.: (202) 234-6797
Web site: www.fairtraderesource.org
GreenMoney Journal
Tel: (800) 849-8751
Web site: www.greenmoney.com
Greenpeace, Inc.
Tel: (800) 326-0959
Web site: www.greenpeaceusa.org
336APPENDIX B
IdealsWork.com
Web site: www.idealswork.com
Institute for Local Self-Reliance
Tel: (612) 379-3815
Web site: www.ilsr.org; www.newrules.org
Interfaith Worker Justice (IWJ)
Tel.: (773) 728-8400
Web site: www.iwj.org
International Labor Organization
Tel.: (202) 653-7652
Web site: www.us.ilo.org
Justice Clothing
Tel.: (207) 941-9912
Web site: www.justiceclothing.com
National Center for Employee Ownership (NCEO)
Tel: (510) 208-1300
Web site: www.nceo.org
National Cooperative Business Association
Tel.: (202) 638-6222
Web site: www.ncba.coop
Natural Step
Tel.: (415) 318-8170
Web site: www.naturalstep.org
No Sweat Apparel
Tel.: (877) 992-7827
Web site: www.nosweatapparel.com
Program on Corporations, Law and Democracy (POCLAD)
Tel: (508) 398-1145
Web site: www.poclad.org
ReclaimDemocracy.org
Tel.: (406) 582-1224
Web site: reclaimdemocracy.org
Redefining Progress
Tel: (510) 444-3041
Web site: www.rprogress.org
137APPENDIX B
Social Accountability International (SAI)
Tel: (212) 684-1414
Web site: www.cepaa.org
Social Investment Forum
Tel: (202) 872-5319
www. shareholderaction.org
Sustainable Connections
Tel.: (360) 647-7093
Web site: www.sconnect.org
TransFair USA
Tel: (510) 663-5260
Web site: www.transfairusa.org
Trillium Asset Management
Tel: (800) 548-5684
Web site: www.trilliuminvest.com
Unionwear
E-mail: [email protected]
Web site: www.unionwear.com
United Nations Global Reporting Initiative (GRI)
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Tel.: (+31-0-20) 531 00 00
Fax: (+31-0-20) 531 00 31
Web site: www.globalreporting.org
United Students Against Sweatshops (USAS)
Tel.: (202) 667-9328
Web site: www.studentsagainstsweatshops.org
United Students for Fair Trade
Web site: www.usft.org
Verite
Tel: (413) 253-9227
Web site: www.verite.org
Walden Asset Management
Tel.: (617) 726-7250
Web site: www.waldenassetmgmt.com
358APPENDIX B
White Dog Cafe
Tel.: (215) 386-9224
Web site: www.whitedog.com
Workers Rights Consortium (WRC)
Tel: (202) 387-4884
Web site: www.workersrights.org
Working for a More Democratic, Sustainable Approach to
Food
American Community Garden Association
Tel.: (877) 275-2242
Web site: www.communitygarden.org
American Corn Growers Association
Tel: (202) 835-0330
Web site: www.acga.org
Community Food Security Coalition
Tel.: (310) 822-5410
Web site: www.foodsecurity.org
EarthSave International
Tel: (800) 362-3648
Web site: www.earthsave.org
Food First/Institute for Food and Development Policy
Tel: (510) 654-4400
Web site: www.foodfi.rst.org
Global Resource Action Center for the Environment
(GRACE)
Tel.: (212) 726-9161
Web site: www.gracelinks.org
Heifer International
Tel.: (800) 422-0474
Web site: www.heifer.org
Local Harvest
Tel.: (831) 475-8150
Web site: www.localharvest.org
National Campaign for Sustainable Agriculture
Tel: (845) 361-5201
Web site: www.sustainableagriculture.net
339APPENDIX B
National Cooperative Grocers Association
Tel.: (251) 621-7675
Web site: www.ncga.coop
National Farm to School Program
Tel: (323) 34i-5095
Web site: www.farmtoschool.org
National Gardening Association
Tel: (800) 538-7476
Web site: www.kidsgardening.com
Organic Consumers Association
Tel.: (218) 226-4164
Web site: www.organicconsumers.org
Reclaiming the Media
Alliance for Community Media
Tel.: (202) 393-2650
Web site: www.alliancecm.org
Allied Media Projects
Web site: www.clamormagazine.org/allied/about.html
Center for Digital Democracy
Tel.: (202) 986-2220
Web site: www.democraticmedia.org
Center for International Media Action
Tel.: (646) 249-3027
Web site: www.mediaactioncenter.org
Center for Media & Democracy (Publisher of PR Watch)
Tel.: (608) 260-9713
Web site: www.prwatch.org
Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting (FAIR)
Tel.: (212) 633-6700
Web site: www.fair.org
Media Access Project
Tel.: (202) 232-4300
Web site: www.mediaaccess.org
340APPENDIX B
MediaRights
Tel: (646) 230-6288
Web site: www.mediarights.org
Media Tenor
Tel.: (212) 448-0793
Web site: www.mediatenor.com
Microcinema International
Tel: (415) 864-0660
Web site: www.microcinema.com
Openflows Networks, Ltd.
Tel: (416) 531-5944
Web site: openflows.org
Reclaim the Media
Web site: www.reclaimthemedia.org
Third World Majority
Tel: (510) 682-6624
Web site: www.cultureisaweapon.org
Interactive Media and News Sources
AlterNet
Web site: www.alternet.org
Coalition of Immokalee Workers/Radio Conciencia
Tel.: (239) 657-8311
Web site: www.ciw-online.org
Common Dreams News Center
Web site: www.commondreams.org
Free Press
Tel.: (866) 666-1533
Web site: www.freepress.net
Free Speech TV
Tel: (303) 442-8445
Guerrilla News Network/GNN.tv Web site:
www.guerrillanews.com
341APPENDIX B
Hometown Utilicom (public Internet utility)
Tel.: (610) 683-6131
Web site: www.hometownutilicom.org
Independent Media Center
Web site: www.indymedia.org/en/index.shtml
In the Mix
Tel.: (800) 597-9448
Web site: www.pbs.org/inthemix
The Meatrix
Web site: www.themeatrix.com
Pacifica Radio
Tel.: (510) 849-2590
Web site: www.pacifica.org
Thin Air Radio
Tel: (509) 747-3807
Web site: www.thinairradio.org
Tompaine.com
Web site: www.tompaine.com
TruthOut
Web site: truthout.org
Education
Big Picture Schools
Tel: (401) 781-1873
Web site: bigpicture.org
y
Center for Collaborative Education
Tel: (617) 421-0134
Web site: www.ccebos.org
Coalition of Essential Schools
Tel: (510) 433-1451
Web site: www.essentialschools.org
Educators for Social Responsibility
Tel.: (617) 492-1764
Web site: www.esrnational.org
342APPENDIX B
Forum for Education and Democracy
Tel.: (740) 448-3402
Web site: www.forumforeducation.org
Institute for Student Achievement
Tel.: (516) 812-6700
Web site: www.studentachievement.org
KIDS Consortium
Tel.: (207) 784-0956
Web site: www.kidsconsortium.org
School Mediation Associates
Tel.: (617) 926-0994
Web site: www.schoolmediation.com
School Redesign Network
Tel.: (650) 725-0703
Web site: www.schoolredesign.net
YoufhBuild USA
58 Day Street
Somerville, MA 02144
Tel.: (617) 623-9900
Web site: www.youthbuild.org
Promoting Public Dialogue
Conversation Cafes
New Road Map Foundation
Tel.: (206) 527-0437
Web site: www.conversationcafe.org
Meetup, Inc.
Tel: (212) 255-7327
Web site: www.meetup.com
National Coalition for Dialogue and Deliberation
Tel: (802) 254-7341
Web site: www.thataway.org
September Project
Web site: www.theseptemberproject.org
343APPENDIX B
Study Circles Resource Center
Tel.: (860) 928-2616
Web site: www.studycircles.org
Justice and Legal Issues
Justice Policy Institute
Tel.: (202) 363-7847
Web site: www.justicepolicy.org
Men Against Destruction-Defending Against Drugs and Social
Disorder
(MAD DADS)
Tel: (904) 388-8171
Web site: www.maddads.com
National Association for Community Mediation
Tel.: (202) 667-9700
Web site: www.nafcm.org
National Youth Court Center
Tel.: (859) 244-8193
Web site: www.youthcourt.net
Sentencing Project
Tel.: (202) 628-0871
Web site: www.sentencingproject.org
Time Dollar USA
Tel.: (202) 686-5200
Web site: www.timedollar.org
144
Appendix C
Recommended Reading
Cohen, Ben, and Mai Warwick. Values-driven Business: How
to Change the World, Make Money, and Have Fun. San
Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2006.
Derber, Charles. Regime Change Begins at Home. San
Eisler, Riane. The Real Wealth of Nations: Creating a Caring
Economics. San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2007.'
Farmer, Paul. Pathologies of Power: Health, Human Rights,
and the New War on the Poor. Berkeley: University of California
Press, 2005.
Floyd, Esme. 1001 Little Ways to Save Our Planet: Small
Changes to Create a Greener, Eco-friendly World. London:
Carlton Books, 2007.
Garrison, Jim. America as Empire: Global Leader or Rogue
Power? San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2004.
Goodman, Amy, with David Goodman. The Exception to the
Rulers: Exposing Oily Politicians, War Profiteers, and the Media
That Love Them. New York: Hyperion, 2004.
Hammel, Laury, and Gun Denhart. Growing Local Value:
How to Build Business Partnerships That Strengthen Your
Community. San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2007.
Henderson, Hazel, and Daisaku Ikeda. Planetary Citizenship:
Your Values, Beliefs and Actions Can Shape a Sustainable World.
Santa Monica, CA: Middleway Press, 2002.
Henry, James S., and Bill Bradley. The Blood Bankers: Tales
from the Global Underground Economy. New York: Four Walls
Eight Windows, 2003.
Hiatt, Steven, editor, with an introduction by John Perkins. A
Game as Old as Empire: The Secret World of Economic Hit Men
and the Web of Global Corruption. San Francisco: BerrettKoehler, 2007.
Kabat-Zinn, John. Coming to Our Senses: Healing Ourselves
and the World Through Mindfulness. New York: Hyperion, 2005
Korten, David. When Corporations Rule the World. San
MSLappe, Frances Moore. Democracy's Edge: Choosing to
Save Our Country by Bringing Democracy to Life. San Francisco:
Jossey-Bass, 2006.
Mander, Jerry, and Edward Goldsmith, eds. The Case Against
the Global Economy and for a Turn Toward the Local. San
Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1996.
•
Palast, Greg. The Best Democracy Money Can Buy. New
York: Plume, 2004.
Roberts, Llyn. The Good Remembering: A Message for Our
Times. New York: O Books, 2007.
Rodriguez, Felix I., and John Weisman. Shadow Warrior: The
CIA Hero of a Hundred Unknown Battles. New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1989.
Rossi, M. L. What Every American Should Know About the
Rest of the World. New York: Plume, 2003.
Stiglitz, Joseph E. Globalization and Its Discontents. New
York: W. W. Norton, 2003.
Twist, Lynne. The Soul of Money: Transforming Your
Relationship with Money and Life. New York: W. W. Norton,
2003.
Zinn, Howard; People's History of the United States: 1492 to
Present. New York: Harper Perennial Modern Classics,
2005.Notes
Part 1: Asia
i. According to World Bank and IMF-IFS statistics; see
Giancarlo Corsetti, Paolo Pesenti, and Nouriel Roubini, "What
Caused the Asian Currency and Financial Crisis," Elsevier, May
7, 1999, www.sciencedirect.com/science/ article/B6VFi3XJSW8X-i/2/77bdde4277268f5ibc3e8i3dec579a79, Table 23 (p.
335) and Table 27 (p. 337).
2. Associated Press, "Indonesia Admits 'Support' by U.S.
Gold Company to the Military," The New York Times, Dec.
30,2005, www.nytimes.com/2005/12/30/
international/asia/3oindo.html.
3. Amy Goodman, with David Goodman. The Exception to
the Rulers: Exposing Oily Politicians, War Profiteers, and the
Media That Love Them (New York: Hyperion, 2004), p. 1.
4. "Thirty Years After the Indonesian Invasion of East
Timor, Will the U.S. Be Held Accountable for Its Role in the
Slaughter?" Democracy Now! December 7, 2005;
www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=05/i2/o7/i5i9244.
5. Jane Perlez, "A Cautious Reformer as Indonesia's Next
President," The New York Times, Sept. 22, 2004,
www.nytimes.com/2004/09/22/international/ asia/22indo.html.
6. Melissa Rossi, What Every American Should Know About
the Rest of the World (New York: Plume, 2003), p. 32.
7. NPR, "Interview: Sidney Jones on the Tsunami Easing
Peace Process with Aceh Rebels," Morning Edition, Dec. 27,
2005, nl.newsbank.com/nl-search/
we/Archives?p_action=doc&p_docid=ioEC735E9oiBD
(downloaded Aug. 14, 2006).
8. Ibid.
9. Jane Perlez, "U.S. Takes Steps to Mend Ties with
Indonesian Military," The New York Times, Feb. 7, 2005,
www.nytimes.com/2005/02/07/international/ asia/o7indo.html.
10. Democracy Now!,
www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=05/n/23/i522i4.
11. Michael Sullivan, "The Green Heart of Sumatra,"
Morning Edition, NPR, Aug. 14, 2006,
www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=56n866.
12. Steve Bailey, " 'The Bribe Memo' and Collapse of Stone
and Webster," The Boston Globe, March 15, 2006, p. Ei. See also
www.boston.com/business/
globe/art icles/20
06/03/i5/the_bribe_memo_and_collapse_of_stone__
webster/.
13. Associated Press, "Indonesia Admits 'Support' by U.S.
Gold Company to the
M7NOTES
Military," The New York Times, Dec. 30,2005,
www.nytimes.com/2005/12/30/ international/asia/3oindo.html.
14. Jane Perlez, "U.S. Gold Mining Company Says Indonesia
Detains 4 Officials," The New York Times, Sept. 23, 2004,
www.nytimes.com/2004/09/23/ international/asia/23GND-
INDO.htm; and Jane Perlez and Evelyn Rush, "Spurred by Illness,
Indonesians Lash Out at U.S. Mining Giant," The New York
Times, Sept. 8, 2004,
www.nytimes.com/2004/09/08/international/ asia/o8indo.html.
15. Joseph E. Stiglitz, Globalization and Its Discontents
(New York: W. W. Norton, 2003), p. 232.
16. Jane Perlez, "China Competes with West in Aid to Its
Neighbors," The New York Times, Sept. 18, 2006, p. AT,
www.nytimes.com/2006/09/18/world/ asia/i8china.html.
Part 2: Latin America
17. Felix I. Rodriguez, Shadow Warrior: The CIA Warrior of
a Hundred Unknown Battles (New York: Simon and Schuster,
1989).
18. See my Confessions of an Economic Hit Man (San
Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2004).
19. Ibid.
20. Paul Richter, "The U.S. Had Talks on Chavez Ouster,"
Los Angeles Times, April 17, 2002.
21. "Lucio Gutierrez: Ecuador's Populist Leader," BBC News
World edition, Nov. 25, 2002,
news.bbc.co.Uk/2/hi/americas/2511113.stm.
22. "Indigenas Achar liberan a ocho petroleros," Reuters,
December 16, 2002.
23. Associated Press, "Lawmakers Remove Ecuador's
President," April 20, 2005,
www.foxnews.com/story/o,2933,154069,oo.html.
24. "Bechtel Abandons Water Suit Against Bolivia," Earth
Justice, www .earthjustice.org/urgent/print.html?ID=io7. Maude
Barlow, Tony Clarke, Blue Gold: The Fight to Stop the Corporate
Theft of the World's Water (New York: New Press, 2003), pp.
91,107,124-25,138,152,154-55,177,186.
25. Alma Guillermoprieto, "A New Bolivia?" New York
Review of Books, Aug. 10, 2006, p. 36,
www.nybooks.com/articles/19210.
26. Quotes from Wikipedia,
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evo_Morales (accessed June 28, 2006).
27. Juan Forero, "Ecuador's New Chief Picks Cabinet; Leftist
in Economic Post," The New York Times, April 22, 2005, p. A4.
28. Juan Forero, "Presidential Vote Could Alter Bolivia, and
Strain Ties with U.S.," The New York Times, Dec. 18, 2005, sect.
A, p. 13.
29. Paulo Prada, "Bolivian Nationalizes the Oil and Gas
Sector," The New York Times, May 2, 2006, p. A9,
www.nytimes.com/2006/05/02/world/Americas/ 02bolivia.html.
30. "Evo Morales Nationalizes Gas Resources in Bolivia,"
Democracy Now!, May 5, 2006,
www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=o6/05/o5/i4322i6.
31. Quoted from "Hello President," Hugo Chavez's regular
TV and radio program,
348NOTES
April 10, 2005, no. 218, Radio Nacional de Venezuela,
Caracas. Translated and observed by BBC World Monitoring,
April 13, 2005.
32. Associated Press, "War Crimes Tribunal Dispute
Threatens Aid," The New York Times, July 1, 2003,
www.npwj.org/?q=node/i30733. Raul Zibechi, "Brazilian Military Getting Ready for
Vietnam-style U.S. Invasion," Brazzil Magazine, July 22,2005,
www.brazzil.com/content/view/9344/76. See Professor Zibechi's
monthly column at americas.irc-online.org/.
Part y. The Middle East
34. James S. Henry, The Blood Bankers: Tales from the
Global Underground Economy (New York: Thunder's Mouth
Press, 2005), pp. 307-10; Jim Garrison, America As Empire:
Global Leader or Rogue Power? (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler,
2004), pp. 93-95.
Part 4: Africa
35. BBC News, "The Chagos Islands: A Sordid Tale," Nov.
3, 2000, news.bbc .co.Uk/2/hi/uk_news/politics/1005064.stm
(accessed Aug. 28, 2006).
36. BBC News, "Country Profile: Seychelles,"
news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/country_ profiles/1070461.stm
37. For more information, see Larry Rohter, "Pinochet
Entangled in Web of Inquiries," The New York Times, Feb. 7,
2005, p. A7, www.nytimes.com/2005/02/07/
internafional/o7chile.html.
38. Both quotes from "Nobel Peace Laureate Wangari
Maathai and Son of Executed Nigerian Activist Ken Wiwa
Discuss Oil and the Environment," Democracy Now!, Sept. 20,
2005, www.democracynow.org/print.pl?sid=05/o9/2o/i330227.
39. A general summary of "The Seychelles Case," including
the names of most of the mercenaries involved (Jack is listed
under his legal name, not as Jack Corbin, an alias) is available
under "The Truth Commission Files" at
www.contrast.org/truth/html/seychelles.html.
40. BBC News, "The Chagos Islands: A Sordid Tale," Nov.
3, 2000, news.bbc .co.Uk/2/hi/uk_news/politics/1005064.stm
41. BBC News, "Diego Garcia Islanders Battle to Return,"
Oct. 31, 2002, news .bbc.co.Uk/2/hi/africa/2380013.stm (accessed
Aug. 28, 2006).
42. Simon Robinson and Vivienne Walt, "The Deadliest War
in the World," TIME, June 5, 2006, pp. 40-41,
www.time.com/time/magazine/article/ 0,9171, ii9892i,oo.html.
43. Ibid., p. 39. Parenthetical definition included in original.
44. Cynthia McKinney, "Covert Action in Africa: A
Smoking Gun in Washington, D.C.," April 16, 2001,
www.house.gov/rnckinney/news/pro10416.htm; House
Committee on International Relations, Suffering and Despair:
Humanitarian Crisis in the Congo: Hearing Before the
Subcommittee on International Operations and Human Rights,
107th Cong., May 17, 2001.
45. Robinson and Walt, "The Deadliest War in the World," p.
39.
>4946. For more information, see Joan Baxter, "Mali's David
v. Goliath GM Struggle," BBC News, Dec. 7, 2005,
news.bbc.co.Uk/2/hi/africa/4445824.stm.
Part 5: Changing the World
47. David C. Korten, When Corporations Rule the World
(San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 1995). See Joel Bakan, The
Corporation: The Pathological Pursuit of Profit and Power (New
York: Penguin, 2004) and The Corporation, DVD, directed by
Mark Achbar and Jennifer Abbott (Zeitgeist Films, 2004).
48. Dr. Riane Eisler, The Real Wealth of Nations, Ch. 10, p.
9, galley proofs.
49. Quote from and more information at Amnesty
International Web site, www.amnesty.org.
50. MoveOn, www.moveon.org, accessed July 31, 2006.
51. Quotes from Thomson Gale, "Black History: Jesse
Jackson," www.gale.com/ free_resources/bhm/bio/jackson_j.htm
(accessed Aug. 27, 2006); "On the Issues: Rev. Jesse Jackson on
Civil Rights," www.ontheissues.org/Celeb/
Rev_Jesse_Jackson_Civil_Rights.htm (accessed Nov. 1, 2006);
"How Jesse Jackson's Focus on the Financial Markets Could
Make a Difference," LookSmart,
www.findarticles.eom/p/articles/mi_m1365/is_n3_v29/ai_212277
20 (accessed Nov. 1, 2006).
52. Cal Manjowski, "TIAA-CREF Drops Coke from Social
Choice Account," Reuters, July 18, 2006,
reuters.com/misc/topnews&storyID=20o6-o, www
.indiaresource.org/news/2006/1080.html.
53. Central Intelligence Agency, The World FactBook,
www.cia.gov/cia/publications/ factbook/geos/ec.html.About the
Author
John Perkins is the author of Confessions of an Economic Hit
Man, a startling expose of international corruption that spent more
than a year on The New York Times bestseller lists and has been
published in over thirty languages. He is a founder and board
member of Dream Change and The Pachamama Alliance, two
nonprofit organizations devoted to raising consciousness and
creating a stable, sustainable, and peaceful world for future
generations. Perkins has lectured and taught at universities on
four continents, including Harvard, Wharton, and Princeton, and
is a champion for environmental and social causes.
www.johnperkins.org

The Secret History of the American Empire

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